The Journal of Marian Hawke
by lotusflwr
Summary: Varric persuaded Hawke to keep a journal, not suspecting how pivotal it, or she, would become. Her writings tell part of the tale, but what happened in between? And between her and Fenris? Get the full tale and fill in every funny, dramatic, romantic gap.
1. A Beginning

**A/N:** Hello, I am lotusflwr, long-time reader, first-time writer. I wanted to write Fenris fluff but I'm having a hard time rushing to all the juicy bits without putting it all in context, so I came up with the idea of posting some of Hawke's journal entries along with bits of actual narrative. I fully intend to do a lot of Fenris-loving once all the pieces are in place, but hopefully getting there won't be too tedious.

I've never really written fiction before, so forgive me if it's rough while I'm warming up to the good stuff! Thanks for reading. Oh, and of course: Bioware owns everything.

**P.S.** - Now that this fic has really taken off, I thought I'd add a note for any newcomers that the Fenris goodness starts at Chapter 9 - Interlude: Moonlight on a Long Night. I wouldn't blame you for starting there, since even I'm here mostly for Fenris. ;) But feel free to enjoy the story however you like!

* * *

**20 Cloudreach - 9:31 Dragon**

Varric gave me this journal as a present, "to commemorate the beginning of a beautiful and lucrative partnership," as he put it. He has been pestering me to write in it on a regular basis, and I have relented after almost two weeks of constant nagging. He thinks 'interesting things' happen around me and it would be a shame if they were to be forgotten or taken out of context. I pointed out that I could stand to forget some of the 'interesting things' that have 'happened around me' like the Fifth Blight, throwing up into the Waking Sea for 2 weeks straight and that being forced to work for smugglers for a year could hardly ever be taken out of context. He then added that writing things down can also be cathartic.

A quiet dwarf would be 'cathartic'; I think he just wants someone else to spend inordinate amounts of time scribbling into a book.

So, hello there, Journal. I am Marian Hawke, and I guess you would call me a rogue or assassin or something polite since I have daggers and know how to use them well. I am the daughter of Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell. I am the first child of three; my younger siblings Bethany and Carver were twins. Carver was killed by an ogre as we fled Lothering, may Andraste guide him to the Maker's side. My father has been dead for almost four years now. I have taken care of my family since his death as best I can.

Varric is a dwarf who is equally in love with a crossbow named Bianca (don't ask), crafting incredible stories, and the sound of his own voice; he and his chest hair are my new business partners. His elder brother Bartrand is organizing an expedition into the Deep Roads since the Fifth Blight is recently ended. Varric wants me to come up with 50 sovereigns (my hand shakes to even write that obscene amount of gold) to help fund the expedition in exchange for a share of the profits. Oh, and I have to go down there too. Now that I write it out, it seems a ridiculous scheme. Maybe Varric really wants the gold to buy a printing press and start publishing those stories he's always writing? That seems more likely by half.

My mother, my sister, Bethany, and I are refugees here in Kirkwall. We came here from Lothering in Ferelden. The Fifth Blight consumed our home in a wave of darkspawn, so we fled lest we too be consumed. My mother is from here, from Kirkwall, but she left to marry my father, Malcolm, and run away with him. It sounds terribly romantic, but she lost her inheritance in eloping with him and father was an apostate so we never stayed anywhere for long.

Must have been better than living with Gamlen though. He is, unfortunately, my uncle. We have been staying with him since reaching Kirkwall. The less said about him the better.

My hand hurts now so I shall stop writing for today. I hope this first entry has proven to be as exciting as Varric dreamed it would be.

* * *

Hawke unceremoniously dropped the quill onto the rickety desk and rubbed her cramped writing hand. There, she had done it and Varric would owe her 2 silver and a drink of her choice. If he was fool enough to give her a journal and then practically pay her to write in it, she wouldn't hesitate to take his coin. Besides, maybe keeping a journal would be a good way to get some things off her chest.

_I just need to make sure to hide this journal well. The last thing I need is Gamlen snooping around and reading it_, she thought as she closed the journal and placed it into her pack. She set it near her mabari, Ruff, sure that he could bite off Gamlen's nose before he could stick it into her business.


	2. Bribery and Balance

**22 Cloudreach - 9:31 Dragon**

Varric has read my first entry and was pleased... until he read what I wrote about him. He said a point of writing is to give things "context" and insinuated that I gave very little context to Bianca or his chest hair.

Everyone is a critic.

He really is not as bad as I made him out to be. He is very entertaining, savvy and a good shot with Bianca. He has been a good friend to Bethany and me. Truth be told, I don't know what I would do without him. I had no plan before hearing about Bartrand's expedition, and certainly no plan after Bartrand turned us down. I also wouldn't have had any coin if Varric hadn't pinned that cutpurse to the wall. So what if he's hairy? Dwarves are supposed to be hairy. And Bianca is a beautiful and magnificent crossbow; a true wonder of craftsmanship and labor of love.

We have almost no other friends in Kirkwall, really. None of the other Ferelden refugees are from Lothering. The "acquaintances" we made in Athenril's smuggling ring are hardly the friendly type, not that I would have had anything to do with them in the first place, if not for my dear Uncle. Everyone Mother knew from before is nobility, so she cannot exactly introduce us into her old social circles.

We do have one other friend, Aveline, who came with us from Ferelden. We met her and her husband, Wesley whilst fleeing Lothering. He sadly contracted the Taint and died along the way, not long after Carver died. Aveline came with us, and has become like family now. She is a strong and proud warrior-type. I respect her, but she is making a name for herself in the Kirkwall City Guard now. I doubt her associating with me or Bethany would make things easier on her. Bethany is an apostate like Father, and with our forced year of smuggling activities… well, Aveline doesn't need us corrupting her. And I don't need her turning us in. Not that she would, but I don't want her to have to think about it.

Gamlen is muttering about someone needing to cook dinner. I'll take that as my cue to head to The Hanged Man with Bethany. Neither Mother or Gamlen is a good cook; besides, we have little else but cabbage in the larder.

* * *

Varric smiled as he read over Hawke's latest journal entry. "Much better, and I like the part about Bianca," he said, practically purring the crossbow's name as he petted it in his lap.

Hawke grinned as Varric slipped some coppers across the table to her. She dropped them in her coin purse, where they made a satisfying clink.

"I'm not above taking requests if you're paying me to write. Do you have anything else you want me to write about? Maybe something mean about Bartrand? Praise for The Hanged Man? Your prowess at Wicked Grace?" Hawke asked.

"Now, now," Varric demurred, "I didn't tell you to lie or exaggerate. I just pushed you to put things in perspective when you write. When you become famous and want to publish your autobiography, you'll thank me for all the work I saved you."

Hawke snorted into her wine cup as she took a drink. _Wine never tastes sweeter than when it is paid for with someone else's coin_, she thought.

Bethany placed her hand on Varric's and patted it, smiling at him. "I think it's a lovely idea, Varric, and I'm glad you are encouraging her. I remember when I was little, she used to come home and tell Carver and me grand tales of her adventures that day, and we'd be in awe of our big sister," she said, smiling now at Hawke. "She's a more than a fair storyteller. And you're right, writing things down will be good for her." Bethany pulled the journal in front of her and leafed through the first few filled pages.

Hawke sighed, looking from her Varric to sister. "Fine, fine, I'll continue. You've convinced me of the virtues of scribing my thoughts," she said with an air of feigned exasperation. Her expression sharpened as she looked back at Varric. "But you promised to put me on your tab as long as I keep writing. If the drinks stop flowing, the ink stops flowing." She shook the nearly empty flagon, the dregs sloshing noisily to punctuate her demand.

Varric laughed and gestured at a nearby serving girl, Norah, to bring some more wine. "Hawke," he said, leaning back in his chair looking completely unconcerned, "not only do you drink the cheapest wine here _watered down_, you will soon be buying me drinks for putting you on to this idea. Just you wait."

He smiled knowingly at Hawke, hands behind his head. _Just got to keep on her to continue writing for a couple of weeks, and then it'll become such a habit that she won't be able to live without it_, he mused to himself. _And I'll get to use all the best bits in my stories. The audience won't see it coming._

Hawke shook her head at the far-off expression on Varric's face, and turned to gossip with Bethany about Gamlen._  
_


	3. Promises and Responsibilities

**26 Cloudreach - 9:31 Dragon**

My how time flies when you are climbing a mountain. We (meaning Varric, Bethany and I) have been out of the city and halfway up Sundermount for the past few days. Now that Bethany and I are free of our obligations to Athenril, I decided to fulfill the bargain we made with Flemeth.

I should explain that, I guess.

Flemeth is the Flemeth of legend, the Witch of the Wilds. Well, I don't know if she's a legend even here in the Free Marches, too, but she certainly is in Ferelden. When Carver charged the ogre and was struck down, we managed to take it down eventually. By the time we had slain the awful thing, we found ourselves exhausted and surrounded by darkspawn.

We would have assuredly died, but a great dragon swooped in and utterly ravaged the wave of darkspawn. The dragon landed in front of us, and there was a bright, blinding light. When we could finally see again, instead of a dragon before us, there was Flemeth.

I wish she had gotten there sooner. Maybe Carver wouldn't have died.

We asked Flemeth to help us get to Gwaren so we could take ship to Kirkwall, and after some deliberation, she finally agreed to do so — if we delivered an amulet to the Dalish for her. She said the Dalish clan would be camped on Sundermount, and that we were to deliver the amulet to their Keeper, and do with it as the Keeper asked.

Seeing as we had little other choice, I agreed, and Flemeth was true to her word. Today, I was finally able to be true to mine.

I don't know how to explain what happened up there, but Flemeth appeared… out of the amulet? She looked the same, turned into a dragon, too. But how could it really be her? She said she was "just a piece," but that makes no sense. Not that any of this story really makes sense now that I see it written down.

My obligation did not end with hiking that amulet halfway up Sundermount, however. The Dalish Keeper bade me take her apprentice, Merrill — now former apprentice, I suppose — back to town with us. The small, slight elven girl reminds me a little of Bethany. Wide-eyed, a bit scared of the world, a mage… I would also say innocent, but it seems Merrill has practiced blood magic. If that means for a Dalish mage what it does for a mage like Bethany or Father… but she seems sweet and nice enough, despite her lack of hesitation in taking a knife to her forearm.

Bethany doesn't want to talk about what we saw up there with Merrill's blood magic, but eventually I will need her to help me figure out if Merrill will be a help or a hindrance to our little band of explorers.

I have a difficult enough time protecting Bethany from the Templars. They mustn't find her; Mother would not be able to bear it. I wouldn't, either.

* * *

Hawke frowned as she finished writing the final line of her journal. Blood magic, templars, witches. She sighed and set the quill aside as she stretched her hands over her head. She felt more at ease now that she'd gotten that off her chest, but thoughts of Merrill still troubled her.

She hadn't taken the journal with her on their several-day journey to Sundermount. She was afraid it would get wet, so she had tucked it away in the lockbox Varric had secreted under his bed in his suite at The Hanged Man.

As they had hiked their way up Sundermount, Hawke had found herself framing phrases in her mind to write when she returned home. Their group had camped near the ancient resting place of the Elvhen; by the time they had liberated Flemeth from her amulet, it was nearly dusk. Varric had taken out a small notebook from somewhere and, as Hawke watched him scribbling away with a charcoal, she felt her fingers itching for her own journal. She had a hard time falling asleep that night, thoughts tumbling around in her head._ Why did she have to be a mage... a blood mage at that! Andraste's tits, why couldn't Merrill wield a bow or axe, anything but a staff? _

Hawke revisited those thoughts now and groaned as she slumped forward, her head coming to rest on the open pages. Her eyes crossed as they focused on the word in front of her — innocent.

Hawke sat up and closed the book, pursing her lips as she stared blankly at the desk. _She is innocent. Merrill has harmed no one but herself. I should not hold what she could be against her; Father believed that so fervently, that he spent his whole life proving the Chantry wrong. I can't just abandon Merrill after bringing her here, when she hasn't hurt anyone.  
_

Hawke nodded once to herself and stood up decisively. She swept on her cloak and tucked her journal under one arm, then set out to visit Merrill in the Alienage._  
_


	4. Flippancy

**27 Cloudreach - 9:31 Dragon**

Mother has been going to the Chantry often lately. I rarely go myself, but I suppose the smell of incense and candle wax is preferable to the smell of cabbage and Gamlen. I hope she isn't trying to find a husband for me again. I know she had been sniffing around for suitable suitors in Lothering before Carver and I left to join King Cailan's army. Truth be told, it was one of there reasons why joining the army seemed a good idea.

Not that there weren't some likely lads in Lothering — I can think of one strapping farmhand whose company I particularly enjoyed several nights during the last few days of Harvestmere. The town was celebrating the last harvest Lothering would ever have. You would think bringing in the harvest for nearly two weeks straight would have tired him out…

But I digress. I don't think marrying me off is a good way out of our situation. Who of substance would want to marry a poor refugee like me? I suppose I am pretty enough, but the men here are used to more compliant women than Fereldans are. And there's no use marrying me to another Fereldan refugee, equally as poor. But, Mother does seem happier for having something to do.

She argued with Gamlen the other night about Grandfather's will, but he didn't have it anymore. Mother is getting a little wild around the eyes and desperate for a way out of this hovel, and it breaks my heart to see her brought low like this. Bethany actually suggested we go looking for the will in the old estate. Mother told her of an old passage up through cellar.

It seems a little desperate but it can't hurt to look. Maybe there will be something in the will that can help us, or something in the cellar that we can pawn. Varric would like that. He is concerned that we still have so little coin to put toward the expedition.

Besides, Bethany does need some security. Mother will have an even harder time marrying her off, since few would marry an apostate. I hope someday Bethany will find someone as loving and accepting of her as Mother was to Father.

* * *

Hawke rolled onto her back in her bunk, absentmindedly twirling the quill in her fingers as her mind wandered back to that first clear, cool night just before Funalis when she had snuck off to the grove by the river with John. She could almost still smell that clean scent of new hay that had clung to him. He had been so warm. So gentle for a man that broad and tall. The way some of the other girls gossiped, you would have thought the first time was all hair accidentally pulled, knees rubbed raw and inconsiderate pinches. She supposed she was fortunate that her first time had been quite enjoyable. Hawke sucked in a slow breath as her eyes slipped closed.

She'd had a cordial acquaintance with him for a long time; they'd danced together at festivals, and he would sometimes lean on his hoe or scythe and wave at her when she walked by and he was working the fields. The other farm lads would whoop and whistle and John would turn to shout at them as Marian and Bethany giggled and hurried by. Carver would scowl, if he was along.

John had kissed her the previous Satinalia; well, a few of the boys had kissed her. That's why she had planted herself in front of the Chantry at midnight with the other giggling maidens. But he was the only one to raise his mask and show his face to her before the young men all ran about town making mischief. Hawke had expected him to smirk or grin, and found herself breathless when she saw he looked at her instead with an intense longing. She hadn't let anyone else kiss her after that.

Hawke usually kept a low profile when in town because of Bethany, but she found herself finding more reasons to visit the tavern in the evenings. She needed to ask Old Barlin about making better traps, or more potent poisons for her daggers. She wanted to see if Danal, the barkeep, knew of any odd jobs that she or Carver could do. She wanted to listen to the army recruiter that the King sent round every few months. If John happened to be there, well...

After a few visits, he would leave his table, usually to some catcalls and friendly jeers, to stand near her and ask after her health and her family. Hawke smiled as she remembered when he'd offered to help around their property with any "man's work," and Carver had overheard. She'd had to stand in front of John with her arms spread wide and shout Carver down about the proper way to refuse an offer graciously made. Her back had pressed up against John's wide chest, and she'd felt the muscles flex and tighten in his torso as he'd shifted warily.

After that episode, he began sitting at the very end of his friends' table, beckoning her over to sit beside him where they would share whispered conversations while the other farm lads made gagging noises or kissy faces at them. They talked of small, trivial things like the weather, town gossip or how the crops fared, but it was companionable, and on the nights he was there, she left with a warm, heady feeling that didn't come from the wine.

It'd been getting to be near Summerday and even John's impish friends were starting to feel the need for companionship as the days got longer and the nights got warmer.

Hawke wrinkled her nose in delight and chuckled to herself, remembering the first night John had leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Marian, is it hot in here, or is it just... you?" His friends had been occupied with their own assortment of lasses and barmaids, so she and John left unnoticed to go out into the summer night to cool off.

She never figured out how she was supposed to cool off with his tongue down her throat, but she supposed her shirt being wide open with breasts unbound did help somewhat. Hawke trailed the feathered tip of the quill down her cheek and arched her back as goosebumps broke out along her arms, just like they had that night when the cool summer breeze had caressed her bare breasts as John had smiled above her in the dark.

He had been so slow and deliberate with her. He never pushed, only eased her on. She knew some of his friends liked to grab, cajole and whine, and she'd been half-afraid to find out he was no different from the others. The other girls in town would tease one another about each others beaus being cads or brutes, but none of them ever kidded Hawke. It could have been her reputation, not John's, that silenced them... but Hawke found herself not wanting to share her experiences with the other girls anyway, lest one of the prettier or wealthier ones try to catch his eye.

Carver had blabbed to Mother, not long after Hawke and John had started disappearing midway through each summer night. Hawke grimaced, remembering the embarrassing lecture she had received from her mother about virtues and scandals and _heavy wombs. _Hawke had promptly chucked Carver's best courting shirt down the well that night. Carver had looked for it for two hours the next evening, bemoaning how he was to meet some new serving girl named Peaches near Barlin's barn. 

_He always was a hypocrite,_ she mused. She and John had never gone that far. _Not until much later, nearly Funalis!_ Besides, she was several years older than Carver. It was maddening to have him threatening her suitors and riling Mother to deliver her womb-speech, when he was altogether too young to be out practicing fathering bastards.

Hawke sighed in her bunk at the thought of Carver, frowning as her eyes fluttered open. _He shouldn't have died,_ she thought. _Maker's breath, he was a jackass and a bit of a rake but he wasn't a bad sort. Just... wool-headed. Young. Too young to die. All of them were too young._

Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about Carver's broken body. The village burning, passing the bodies of several young men and women she knew strewn about the streets of Lothering. Hawke rolled to her side and curled up, crying freely now. "Oh John," she whispered between near-silent sobs, "John. John."

She allowed herself a good cry before she finally took in a juddering, steadying breath. She rolled onto her stomach, wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled the stopper from the ink bottle she had balanced on the edge of the bunk. She dipped the quill in and resumed writing.

* * *

**27 Cloudreach - 9:31 Dragon, continued.**

His name was John. It was off-handed of me to refer to him earlier as "one strapping farmhand in particular" when he was actually the only one I truly cared for. I had never let myself become involved with anyone else before, because it seemed certain we would leave Lothering soon. Then Father took ill and died, and we decided to stay. It was another two years in Lothering before Mother began speaking of marrying me off and I began to really look at the young men of a similar age to me.

He was a wonderful boy... a wonderful man, really. He was at least a year or two younger than me, but he was serious and thoughtful, and he worked hard. He was big, strong and gentle. I think I loved him, and I think he loved me. We got around to figuring out many things about each other that year, but we never quite made it around to that. We spent a year dancing around each other and he courted me for half a year before... well, before we spent Summertide through Funalis 'living dangerously', as Mother would later chide me. There was some truth to her words. I didn't know what came next for us.

It was that winter that Carver and I left to join the army, trying to secure some wealth and security for Mother and Bethany. John's own mother and sisters needed him at home, in Lothering.

We made no promises; I wanted to leave him free, because he had no idea what sort of life I truly led, hiding Bethany from the Templars. King Cailan's men marched through town proclaiming victory would be ours before next Summerday, but no one truly knew if the army would be disbanded after victory at Ostagar or if we would be needed elsewhere in Ferelden. For his part, John had never asked anything of me; he had only given, and taken what was freely given. The afternoon before I left, I found him mucking out Barlin's barn. I told him, "Maker willing, I'll return and we'll see what comes next." He told me, "Maker willing, it'll be sooner than that." I gave him an awkward hug because he was filthy with manure, and he kissed me on the cheek. I didn't see him again before Carver and I marched off.

Truth be told, I was heartsick once I left home. I knew the way things went in little towns like Lothering. If any number of clucking busy-body matrons had their way, John would be married to a girl four years younger than me with a brood on the way, by the time King Cailan's army drove the darkspawn hordes back into the Kocari Wilds.

I made it through basic training and two weeks at Ostagar, before a silver-tongued squire managed to drive me to distraction. I never realized until I was surrounded by men in uniform that I would find them so intriguing. The only uniforms I normally saw were on templars, who I find decidedly the opposite of intriguing.

When we were on the ship bound for the the Free Marches, Mother tried to distract me from my constant seasickness one morning by confiding in me that John had been by to see her just two weeks before Carver and I returned. "He came asking after a dowry, love. I sent him away the first time, as is only proper, but he returned like a good lad a few days later to help chop some wood for Bethany and me," she said as she rubbed my back. As I hung there over the railing of that awful rollicking ship, I suddenly wished that a sudden wave would pitch me overboard before I could hear her next words.

"He is so strong! He chopped a whole cord of wood for us, so I made him some tea, and he chatted with me about the weather. He even complimented Bethany's needlework before he asked after you," she giggled. "When he asked for your hand again, I told him yes, even though by rights I should have made him come back a third time with a bridal chest. But he doesn't have a father to help him make it, and with four sisters... well, and I know how fond you were of him, darling." Mother braced herself against the deck railing and took in a deep, cleansing breath. How she managed to not get ill on that bucking, blighted ship, I will never know.

"Maybe he'll take his sisters to Kirkwall too? Or I am sure we can write to the Chantry in Redcliffe or even Denerim and ask that they send us word of him. In just a few months, he could join us." She said the last words encouragingly as I sagged to the deck and sat there, feeling weak and tossed about.

John died when Lothering was overrun by darkspawn. Carver and I returned from Ostagar with the horde at our heels, and I intended to find him once Mother, Bethany and Carver were on their way to safety. I had hoped he'd fled with his sisters and mother, but no, he was there.

John's body lay face up among what was left of the lads who had stayed behind as a rearguard while others fled, a scythe black with darkspawn blood in his hand, his head nearly cleaved entirely from his neck. Mother and Bethany had understandably kept their eyes averted from the horrible scenes. If Carver had noted his body, he said nothing to me before he, too, died.

Perhaps I was the only one who saw the bodies and marked the names off in my head, like a gruesome list. Thom. Pavel. Benn. Royston. Hugh. John.

It would be wrong to be flippant with the memories of those lads. Especially John's.


	5. Matchmaker

**2 Bloomingtide - 9:30 Dragon**

We have been quite busy these past few days, and it seems with the coming of the new Summerday season comes new fortunes.

Not only have we several more sovereigns in our little chest secreted beneath Varric's bed in The Hanged Man — cannot hide money here, Gamlen is a terrible snoop — but we also have Grandfather's will and further evidence of Gamlen being an ass. Grandfather left everything to Mother, and Gamlen pissed it all away.

Unbelievable, unless you've ever met Gamlen.

Mother feels certain she can appeal to the Viscount and set things right, but I hope she isn't setting herself up for disappointment. She seems invigorated, now, and hopeful. That alone is worth a fortune. I will continue with the expedition regardless; even should she be successful in having the estate returned, we will need money to reorder what has been amiss for so long.

We also have a new member in our little band. He is also an apostate. I collect them now, you know.

His name is Anders, and he used to be a Grey Warden. I didn't think you could stop being a Grey Warden, but apparently he has.

Can Grey Wardens marry, I wonder? Well, both the King and Queen of Ferelden were Wardens, so I suppose so. Or can they only marry other Wardens?

I admit, I don't know much about Grey Wardens… they kept mostly to themselves in the army camp. I remember quite clearly one especially handsome Warden at Ostagar with sort of spiky blond hair... But I never learned his name and couldn't get the nerve up to speak with him. Now that I think about it, he's probably dead. Flemeth said a few managed to survive, and the King and Queen were both at Ostagar... hmm. But I digress. This is not about me.

Perhaps I shouldn't try too hard to get Anders and Bethany talking. She seemed frightened by him when I took her down to his clinic. She said he "felt angry." Only when he explained to me about this spirit of Justice he is joined with did it all make sense. The way he changed when those Templars appeared in the Chantry. The way he tenses and the room almost darkens when he speaks of the plight of mages. The way he uses the word "injustice" all the time.

Why can't I find a nice apostate, like Bethany, for a change? Still, having a male mage to flirt with might be good for Bethany. He flirted with me a little, but he reminds me too much of Carver. All bluster and running headfirst and heedless into danger, seeking recognition for everything he does. If Carver had been born with magic, he probably would have ended up just so. Anders is funny though; Carver had terrible comedic timing, Maker grant him rest.

I must admit however, after seeing what the Templars did to his friend Karl, I can hardly fault Anders for his anger. Thinking of the lifeless eyes of that Tranquil man… then how they sprang to life, only to have him beg for death? What do they do to them in the Circle? Bethany must never find out.

Maybe regaining the prestige of the Amells will serve to protect her. Until then, I must keep her safe. Now that Anders is with us, I no longer have to drag Bethany around under the noses of the Templars to keep us healed. She can stay here with Mother.

* * *

Hawke closed the book, and turned in her seat on the bottom steps outside their small shack. Bethany sat at the top of the stoop performing the odious task of darning some of Gamlen's more pathetic greenish-brown socks. They were making the most of the last few rays of sunlight before darkness forced them back into the close quarters of home.

"So, Anders...?" Hawke said, raising an eyebrow along with her inflection, turning the statement into a question.

"What about him?" Bethany asked nonchalantly without looking up from her work.

"He's an... interesting man?" Hawke prompted, undeterred.

Bethany's hand paused in mid-air, needle brandished high like a tiny sword. She looked at Hawke. "A little too interesting, if you ask me" she said with a sniff before she looked back down and continued sewing. "Dangerously interesting."

"He's an available man, and another apostate," Hawke said in a sing-song voice, though she sang the last part out softly so it would not carry out into the square. "Just like a sister I know..."

Bethany's cheeks flushed prettily, and she shook her head as she hastily tied off her stitching. "Marian!" she groaned exasperatedly, "He must be at least, what, ten years older than me? Unless you also count Justice's age, which makes him about, oh, I don't know, a _million_ years older than me?"

Hawke sobered a little at the mention of Justice, but pressed on resolutely. "Now now, he's maybe one or two years older than me, which makes him only five or six older than you. That doesn't make him old. It makes him _experienced_. _I'm_ not old," Hawke finished in a huff.

"So you claim him then," Bethany said, rather shrilly. A few of the women who were gossiping across the way stopped to look in their direction. Bethany growled unintelligibly and flung the finished sock at Marian's face. Hawke caught it neatly between thumb and forefinger, then quickly dropped it as if it burned her.

Screwing up her face as she pushed the sock away from her with the toe of her boot, Hawke said, "I could never see myself with him. He reminds me in a way of Carver, all that undirected anger, and grand statements of how things ought to be."

Bethany snorted, "I never could figure out what the other girls in town saw in Carver. He was always in such a dark mood. Maybe he was different around strangers?" She stared thoughtfully into the distance briefly, before shaking her head violently. "Now you've got me thinking about what Carver was like with women, and I don't need to go there," she said warningly as she stabbed her needle into another worn sock.

Hawke chuckled, thinking of the few times she'd overheard Carver's advances on the serving girls at Dane's Refuge. _"Are you really that beautiful or am I in the Fade?" _or_ "Is this Tevinter? Can I still be your slave?" _or_ "Andraste's tits... have nothing on you." _She had truly expected he would get slapped for that last one, but the silly maid had giggled like mad and leaned even further over the bar to refill Carver's empty glass.

Hawke sighed, then remarked, "He saved up all his charm for women who weren't Hawkes, I suppose. Not that I mind. I would have had to break his face if he started trying that oozy, suave routine at home. I do wonder where he learned it though."

"Father," Bethany said.

Hawke furrowed her brow in confusion. "I don't recall Father being an incorrigible reprobate."

"No, I meant Anders," Bethany clarified. "That's who Anders reminds me of. Father."

Hawke looked thoughtful. "I suppose I can see that. They both escaped the Circle, opposed the will of the Chantry," she said, nodding to herself.

"Father always told me that mages must always try to help each other, especially apostates," Bethany explained. "Father said that the Chantry's hold would never be broken so long as we were as scared of each other as the Chantry taught others to be scared of us." She looked into the distance, continuing, "It is hard for me to understand some of Father's convictions since I have always been free thanks to the efforts of others. But I can imagine what it would be like for me if I was alone and friendless."

Hawke smiled reassuringly at her sister. "You'll never be alone, little sister."

Bethany smiled back a little sadly. "Father could have easily wound up like poor Anders if he hadn't met Mother and if they hadn't been able to flee to Ferelden..." She trailed off, sewing silently.

Hawke let the silence hang companionably for a moment, before she ventured teasingly, "Maybe all Anders needs a nice, understanding woman?" Her voice inflected comically as she waggled an inquisitive eyebrow at Bethany, making a long "Hmmmmmm?" noise until Bethany's laugh echoed through the darkening square.


	6. Winners and Losers

**5 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Aveline is to be made Guard Captain of Kirkwall. I should be happy for her, but now I really have to watch how much I involve her in some of our less savory endeavors.

We took Anders up to Hightown yesterday to outfit him with some better gear for when he accompanies us on our adventures. Since Varric and I happened to have some very important matters to discuss with Aveline (such as who she should partner with that evening for Diamondback — the obvious answer being me), it was left to Bethany to point out the landmarks of Hightown and introduce Anders to the more reputable merchants. Normally I wouldn't leave Bethany alone in Hightown, but Anders has been avoiding Templars in Kirkwall for as long as we, and they promised to stay away from the Chantry.

My matchmaking machinations may not be the subtlest, but someone needs to take the initiative.

As it happened, Aveline had what Varric refers to as a "hot tip" on a caravan raid. For half a heartbeat, I thought she proposed raiding the caravan ourselves. But before I had a chance to slap Varric to see if I was dreaming, she clarified that she wanted the raid averted. Luckily for the Kirkwall guard, it is often easier to fence newly-ownerless weapons, armor and trinkets anyway. Have you ever tried fencing a wagon full of Orlesian tapestries when you look too poor to even own a homespun handkerchief? It takes all the fun out of haggling, I assure you.

Aveline went on ahead to scout out the suspected raid site, while Varric and I sought out Anders and Bethany. They had already completed shopping, for Anders sported an almost-new belt, and a rather wicked-looking staff that fortunately looked more poleaxe-y than magic-y. I suppose Varric and I looked eager, for Anders was excited for our return, even before we explained that we had a job.

We escorted Bethany home before setting out for the foothills around Sundermount. There was no discreet way to ask after her outing with Anders, since he was rather animatedly discussing with me how he could best compliment or augment our usual group strategies and tactics. The man is enthusiastic enough, I will give him that.

The ambush itself went a little strangely. We had expected to find preparations to waylay a caravan, but the road itself was rather disused and too narrow by half for any respectable, wealthy merchant to take. It was also too exposed for a smuggler's path — really it was more like a back country road. Maker knows, the price of vegetables is still ridiculously high from the recent Blight, but if thugs are waylaying turnip carts now…

Aveline had her suspicions after we dispatched the small band of idiots who attacked us. We hightailed it back to the guard barracks where she reported in to her captain. My blood still boils when I think of the things I overheard through that thick wooden door. It is one thing to reprimand a subordinate, but that Jeven was beyond insulting. No one deserves to be spoken to like that, least of all Aveline.

It worked against his own good in the end, for she stormed out of there practically on _fire_. I have rarely seen Aveline truly angry — the look in her eyes when she left Jeven's office was enough to make lesser men haul themselves off to jail rather than face her wrath. A quick chat with a fellow guardswoman later, and Varric, Anders and I found ourselves struggling to keep up with Aveline as she wound her way down through the streets toward Lowtown.

Thank the Maker that she has red hair. In the dark and from behind, Aveline is big enough to resemble anyone else in the Kirkwall guard.

Mercifully, we caught up to her just before Varric's legs gave way or Anders fell over from exhaustion. And thankfully, she had caught up to her fellow guardsman, Donnic, who was probably quite pleased to see all of us despite our sweaty, red faces — which he probably didn't notice while a circle of thugs beat him senseless.

The skirmish went on longer than it should have, since half of my hearty companions, not Aveline or myself of course, were winded. Still, we managed to get Guardsman Donnic on his feet and limping back to the barracks. We all limped back to The Hanged Man, which lay blessedly just around the corner.

Aveline got her evidence, and Jeven got the boot. Donnic got some stitches, a nervous dwarven merchant got a sack full of like-new assorted weaponry and armor, and our communal chest got at least two and half sovereigns added to it.

And I got stuck paying for the night's drinks - Anders insisted on being my partner at Diamondback. I think Ruff could have easily done better. Blindfolded.

Still, all's well that ends well, right?

* * *

Hawke dropped the quill, and drained her wine cup in one smooth swallow.

"Are you finished? Can I read it?" Anders asked, his attention turning towards her almost the moment her quill hit the table.

Hawke shut her journal protectively. "You're awfully forward, serrah," she said, pressing her hand to her chest, pretending to be scandalized, "asking to read a lady's most-private thoughts."

"You sometimes let Varric read it," he countered, his puppy-dog eyes reminding her of Ruff eying her at the dinner table.

She laughed, but shook her head.

"Varric and I have an... arrangement," she explained as she pointedly poured herself another generous serving of the light pink wine sitting on the table in front of her. Anders made as if protest, but Hawke cut him off. "And Bethany is _family. _I can hardly keep secrets from my little sister. Not when we practically have to sleep in the same bed_."_

Anders blushed at that. 

_Yes, think about Bethany laying there in the dark, all whispers and giggles,_ Hawke smiled inwardly.

Anders glanced towards where Bethany sat with Merrill at the other end of the table, the two female mages receiving Varric's frustrated tutelage on playing cards.

"No, no," Varric huffed, throwing down his cards, and pushing a stack of coppers back in front of Merrill. "Don't just shove all your coins in at once! Did you even _look_ at your hand? This is a game of subtlety, Daisy! There are at least _two more rounds of betting_ to go!" His voice became uncharacteristically high-pitched, for a dwarf.

Merrill cocked her head at the stack of shiny pennies, looking for all the world just like a magpie.

"But I have a good feeling," she said simply. "You said sometimes you have to go with your stomach. Well, I feel something." The slight elf demonstratively patted her nonexistent belly.

It growled so loudly that even Hawke could hear it from where she sat.

They all erupted into laughter, except for Varric, who hid his face in his hands, groaning.

"Daisy, that's not the gut feeling I was talking about," he said exasperatedly from behind his fingers as he rubbed at his bleary eyes.

He sat back in his chair for a moment before he gave a long, defeated sigh. "All right girls, let's stop for dinner. I could use a break anyway."

Bethany gathered up the cards. Merrill's flipped over, face-up, as she slid them toward Bethany.

One depicted Divine Justinia I, her severe, pinched face seeming to disapprove being used for gambling; the other was clearly a man in robes, face hidden in shadow as dark magics swirled about his outstretched hand.

Varric paused halfway through the motion of standing. "Well, I'll be a son of a nug," he said in quiet wonderment. "The priestess and the magician. The highest damn hand in Diamondback."

Merrill leaned down, squinting at the cards, her nose almost touching the tabletop. "Oh. So that's good then?" she asked with absolute innocence.

She straightened back up and searched the room. "I wonder if they have any bread today. I feel like having some toast."

* * *

**A/N:** The Dragon Age Wiki says that Diamondback is the same game that was made up for the Cerebus comic books. I have never read them, but the rules are listed at cerebusfangirl. com/diamondback. php for anyone who is interested.


	7. Smooth

"If I were to touch you, I'd always wash my hands first," Anders explained to Bethany. She blinked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

Hawke watched the two of them, her face propped up by her hand under her chin, as she listened to the exchange with increasing boredom. _At least he's talking to her instead of me, _she thought with inward satisfaction. _Although this subject's not as romantic as it could be..._

Anders held his hands a few inches above the ravages of his dinner plate. "If you have a systemic ailment, like the Creeping Cough, or Mud Fever or the like, I usually place my hands just above like so, and run them outward while I heal," he explained, as he moved his hands apart miming the gesture. "It helps focus the energies you draw from the Fade through your sleeping mind, outward and through the patient, mimicking the way your waking mind is thinking."

Bethany watched his hands, nodding.

"Some patients are uncomfortable being healed by mages, so I avoid touching them and causing further distress," he said bitterly, face darkening.

Hawke rolled her eyes at his tone.

Bethany quickly changed the subject. "B-but... if the wound is localized, you would sometimes place your hands on it to heal...?" she asked, her voice overly cheerful and pleading.

Anders did not seem to notice the desperation in her tone, and his eyes once again became lively and animated. "Usually, and only after I washed them. You don't want to introduce dirt or corruption into an open wound and have it sealed in when you heal it over," he lectured sagely. "For some injuries, like a concussion or swelling of the brain, touching the patient is the only way to ensure your healing magic reaches all the way down to the source of the problem."

Bethany's face was rapt as she followed his words, her eyes sparkling, her head nodding. She leaned closer, revealing more of her bosom in the process.

Hawke's eyes slipped shut, and she nodded off. Her head and arm tilted slowly, then her chin slipped off her hand entirely. Both Anders and Bethany jumped in alarm as she suddenly bolted upright, her fists hitting the table.

"Sorry," Hawke apologized sheepishly, shaking herself awake. "Don't mind me. Please, keep talking! Oh look, I'm out of wine, do excuse me," she said in a rush, and just a little too brightly. She picked up her empty wine flagon, winking at Bethany once her back was to Anders.

Bethany giggled as her face flushed, while Anders stammered, "W-we'll be here when you get back, Marian!"

Their conversation resumed, but was quickly swallowed up by the murmurings of the other patrons in the busy tavern. Hawke clanged the empty flagon down onto the bar near Corff the barkeep, purposefully making a din to catch his attention. "Fill 'er up, if you please, Corff. On Varric, as per usual," she said casually, rolling her shoulders and loosening her neck as Corff nodded amiably. He took the flagon into the back room where he kept huge casks of wine.

Hawke leaned on the bar, smacking her dry mouth and blinking the sleep from her eyes as she scanned the tavern, looking for new company._ Best to give the lovebirds some room to stretch their wings,_ she thought deviously. Varric was nowhere to be seen. _Maybe he's sitting down, and that's why I can't find him_, she mused with a snort.

"Pay us our money, bitch," said a brutish man on the far side of the bar. Hawke's attention snapped to him when she heard the swear.

The man spoke to a dark-skinned woman in a blue kerchief sitting at the bar calmly to his left, drinking out of one of the many glasses set in front of her. Hawke had noticed her before when she, Anders and Bethany had arrived for the evening. How could she not? The woman wore more jewelry than clothes - she stood out in The Hanged Man like a templar would in a nursery school. _I see she's made some... friends, _Hawke thought.

Two thuggish cohorts stepped up behind the woman as she watched. One moved to the other side of the woman, giving Hawke a glare before turning his back to her. Hawke glowered and edged closer to the corner of the bar.

"Tell you what, Lucky..." the dark woman said between lowering her glass and refilling it from a large bottle in front of her. She swirled the drink in her glass without even deigning to look at the brute. "Since the information you brought me was worth nothing..." She let the words linger as she tossed back her drink nonchalantly.

The woman picked up the bottle as if to pour, but Hawke could see her shoulders tense and her head move a fraction of an inch to the side as she noticed the man behind her. She continued without a hint of disquiet, "... that's what I'll pay you." She made to raise her glass again; Hawke's own mouth went dry as the brutish man, Lucky, slammed his hand onto her rising cup and pinned it to the bar, his face twisted with anger as he hissed in the woman's face.

"Me and my boys will get our money's worth, _Isabela_," he hissed, spittle spraying the woman's face as she regarded the enraged Lucky coolly. Isabela leaned over, all breasts and pouty lips, and whispered something in Lucky's ear. Hawke could see the tight fist the woman's other hand made, though.

_Uh oh_, Hawke thought. _Usually the men in here try to drown you with drinks and seduce you with lame poems. They don't typically bludgeon you into a four-way. _She grimaced with disgust, then cast a quick glance around the room again, looking for Varric and Bianca. She still did not see him. Her attention was caught then by the sound of a stool scraping across the floor, as Isabela stood and slammed Lucky's face into the bar in a flurry of motion.

He went down in a shower of tumbling glasses and cursing. The thug behind Isabela grabbed her, pinning her arms to her waist as he chuckled lecherously in her ear. Hawke made to step in, but Lucky backed into her, swinging blindly, and she was thrown off balance. The other woman threw back her head savagely and hit the man holding her square in the nose. Hawke could hear his bone and cartilage crunching with a sickening, wet sound.

Hawke kicked Lucky away from her, and steadied herself against the bar. She stumbled back again as a hail of broken glass sailed across the counter, the other thug crashing a cider bottle over the head of his companion, missing Isabela who had ducked out from his friend's now-slack arms. Isabela's right fist connected squarely with the bottle-wielding brute's jaw, then her left, and finally she kneed him swiftly in the groin and threw him onto a nearby table, where he rolled off and hit the floor in a crash of plates and glasses.

Hawke was struck dumb by the flowing grace of the woman. She was still standing there rapt when she sucked in a sharp, surprised breath, as Lucky loomed suddenly behind Isabela, seemingly from out of nowhere. He was reaching behind his back, meaty hand already on the hilt of his longsword._ Oh shit,_ Hawke thought dumbly, hands still grasping the bar uselessly where she had been watching the fight like a breathless spectator._  
_

But Lucky froze still as stone, arm over his head. Hawke shook herself from her reverie and took a step toward the halted tussle, hands finally unsheathing the small knives she'd hidden up her sleeves. As she moved, she was able to see now that the dark woman held the point of a dagger at Lucky's throat, a defiant smirk on her face.

Isabela's other hand mimicked Lucky's own pose, ready to grip the second wicked dagger sheathed on her back. "Tell me, Lucky," she said in a slow, dark tone that lacked all the teasing edge of her earlier words, "Is it worth dying for?"

Lucky swallowed thickly and Hawke could see him flinch as his adam's apple bobbed and a pinprick of blood welled up from his throat. Lucky's eyes darted wildly about, looking for his cohorts who lay writhing and moaning on the floor, groaning and clutching various parts of their bodies. Lucky released his grip on the sword and it fell back into its sheath with a clang. Isabela glided back a single step and flicked her knife toward the exit. Lucky ran without even sparing a glance for his compatriots, though the one who had been kicked in the groin grabbed the last fellow and hauled him after their leader, the two of them limping and sagging against one another.

"I didn't think so," Isabela said to herself, satisfied as her assailants left.

Hawke watched them go. She suddenly realized her mouth was hanging open stupidly and closed it with an audible click. She turned to look at this woman, Isabela, and stopped short. She was already perched back on her stool, righting her glass and tutting over the spilled liquor that dripped from the edge of the bar. "Damn that Lucky. Well, that's one wasted drink," Hawke heard her muttering.

"Here you are, Miss Hawke," Corff said from beside her, and Hawke nearly leapt out of her skin as the he thumped a full flagon onto the counter. "Oy," Corff said, noticing the mess for the first time, his voice growing louder and speaking past her to the room at large, "Who's been wrecking up my tavern?" He eyed Hawke suspiciously and she quickly hid her daggers back up her sleeves as she bent down to turn the stools around her upright.

"A few jackasses who just left got into a bit of a tiff with each other," she half-lied as she brushed some of the glass off the bar and onto the floor. "You know how some of these lads get crazy after a few pints of that cheap gut-rot ale!" she said lightheartedly, trying to put Corff at ease. His face only grew darker. She tried a different tact, pointing out cheerfully, "At least nobody died! In here, anyway. And the sawdust soaked up most of the blood."

Hawke gripped her flagon when Corff continued to glare at her. "Right, I'll just be over there." She meekly pointed toward Isabela, ducked her head, and made her way around the bar quickly. She picked up the stool lying at Isabela's feet and sat at the far corner of the bar with the wall at her back. She ignored Corff glaring at her, and took a long sip directly from the lip of the flagon, pointedly looking everywhere else but at the barman.

Isabela gave her a sidelong glance and chuckled a deep, sultry laugh. "Thirsty, are you?" Her eyebrow quirked upward as she took in the sight of Hawke apparently drinking a whole gallon of wine.

Hawke sheepishly put down the flagon and reached over the bar, plucking a clean cup from the stack on the counter near her, now that Corff's back was to her. Isabela poured two drinks from her own bottle and slid one over to Hawke while she was pouring herself a cup of wine. Hawke looked up as the glass slid to a stop against her pewter mug, making a dull clonk.

"Cheers," said Isabela as she raised her glass to Hawke, smiling.

Hawke quickly put down her flagon and raised the offered glass to Isabela. "Cheers," she replied, and paused when she saw Isabela throw back her drink in one quick motion. Hawke did the same.

Liquid fire burned down her throat, and she felt her nose close off and tears spring to her eyes. She all but dropped the glass onto the counter as she threw herself forward, doubling over as she drew in a rasping breath. "Maker," she croaked weakly, before a fit of coughing took her.

A strong hand thumped her on the back as Hawke wiped her runny eyes and nose on the back of her hand and sat upright, her belly burning like she had just eaten a live coal.

Isabela let loose a high, tinkling laugh that sounded like chimes in a sea breeze.

Hawke took a few slow breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth before she spoke. "How can you drink that stuff? What's in it, dragon piss?" she asked apprehensively, voice still raw and squeaky.

Isabela laughed again and picked up the bottle, turning it around in her hands. "It's just whiskey," she said, looking at the bottle questioningly. "Bad whiskey, I'll grant you, but it's not even that strong. Just bracing enough to keep my spirits up."

Hawke's eyes grew wide with horror. "They make it _stronger_? On _purpose?_" Her stare went vacant, and she felt a little light-headed as the alcohol hit her. She listed, and gripped the bar with one hand, the side of the stool with the other.

Isabela leaned over, the swell of her breasts hiding the sight of her strong, curvy thighs in Hawke's field of view as she stared downward. "Awww, aren't you just the _cutest thing_?" the dark woman cooed as she put the whiskey bottle down and handed Hawke her cup of watery, weak wine.

Hawke sipped at it, the familiar sweetness of the young wine slaking the thirst that the whiskey had worsened with its dry fire. After a moment, she felt more human and straightened up. Isabela was watching her, an amused smile quirking up the corner of her lips.

"Marian!" Anders called as he walked up to the bar behind Isabela. "Are you alright? Someone said there was a fight over by the bar, and when you didn't return... I... thought..." He trailed off as his eyes grew round as saucers, noticing Isabela in all her glory.

"Hello there," he said, his voice dropping an entire octave as he greeted Isabela with a charming smile. "Do I know you? You look very... familiar." He studied Isabela's face.

Hawke interrupted his thoughts before he could study the rest of Isabela. "I'm fine, Anders. Anders? Anders?" She snapped her fingers twice sharply to catch his attention.

Anders looked at her blankly for a moment before he seemed to recognize her. "Yes, Hawke?" he asked.

Hawke gave him an exasperated look and asked, "Well?"

Anders look confused for a moment before he caught himself and said, "Oh! Yes. Just checking to make sure you're all right. And umm, Varric's just arrived with Merrill, so we'll be moving to his suite to discuss business soon..." he trailed off as he glanced as Isabela. "Whenever you're done with your... lovely friend here."

Hawke made a shooing motion at him. "I'll be along soon. Go attend Bethany before one of these ruffians paws at her. Please?" she said, growling out the entreaty so it sounded less a request and more a threat.

Anders left, chastened.

Isabela sighed as she turned to watch him go. "You know, you're nothing but tits and ass to the men in this place. And they won't hesitate to grab at both," she said wryly, turning back to Hawke.

Hawke snorted. "Oh, that's just Anders. Don't mind him. He doesn't get out much. I'm Hawke, by the way."

"Hawke, is it? And you know Varric?" Isabela asked curiously. She looked Hawke up and down, appraising her thoughtfully. "Yes, I've heard of you."

Hawke found herself blushing under the weight of that stare. "Oh?" was all she managed to say. _Hmm, I am smooth,_ she thought to herself, groaning inwardly at her sudden lack of verbal finesse.

"You know, you might be just who I'm looking for to help solve a little problem I have," Isabela said as she stood up and linked arms with Hawke.

Hawke slid off the stool as Isabela guided her towards Varric's suite. "You're not the first one," she said with a laugh, "nor likely the last."

* * *

**8 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

I suppose it must be my face. Mother always told me I had an honest face, which only encouraged me to more mischief. It's much harder to court trouble when you feel that your face will give you away, should you get caught. Father was more specific and said it was my eyes. "You have open eyes," he would say, and I would cross them at him and stick out my tongue and he would laugh. "Observant eyes," he would correct himself and shake his head.

I had to be observant. Mother grew up nobility, so she only sees people's clothes or possessions. It was left to me to watch out for Father and Bethany. Watching for templars or the Chantry's devout, or just nosy people with too much time or curiosity. I learned to watch how people spoke to others or spoke of their neighbors, to judge how far they could be trusted. We moved frequently in Ferelden, so I became quite practiced at quickly sizing up strangers. It was a necessity.

So you can imagine that it didn't take me long to notice the new face at the bar tonight. Actually what I first noticed was her thighs. And no, that wasn't a misspelling of 'eyes.'

You really do meet the strangest people in The Hanged Man.

Her name is Isabela and she is a ship captain. Was a ship captain. I don't know what, exactly, she is now. A semi-nudist professional? A professional semi-nudist? Either way, she must be from Rivain because her complexion is darker than just about anyone I have ever met, and she has the biggest, flashiest jewelry I have ever seen. Come to think of it, there is a lot about her that is big and fleshy. Flashy.

She wants us to help her fight a duel in Hightown later this evening. Well, she'll fight the duel (otherwise it's less a duel and more just a regular fight), but we will be her backup should things turn ugly. Uglier than a duel, anyway.

If it really is just a duel, then I feel sorry for the other fellow. Isabela wields a wicked pair of daggers not unlike my own, and she is more than capable with them. I hope she sticks around afterward; she might be able to teach me a few things.

I wish I had her way with words. When she is in a mood, she practically purrs. I'm not into women, but even so the hair on my arms stood up when she spoke. Maybe she could also teach me to talk like that — it could come in handy should I ever actually meet someone. Assuming I can keep Isabela from bedding him first. I'm told from what Varric's seen of her since she arrived, that she works fast. I'll definitely need to keep Anders from being alone with her.

Wish us luck, oh Journal. We'll soon be off to meet up with Isabela in Hightown. Let's hope her opponent brings a lot of coin and little guile to this knife-fight.

* * *

**8 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon, continued**

Note to self: Never drink whiskey again. Or anything else Isabela calls "bracing."**  
**


	8. Discomfort

**9 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Well, last night certainly did not lack for excitement.

Isabela seems to have even more people looking to kill her than she has looking to bed her. When I told her as much, she just winked and said, "Everyone wants to stick something into me." Maker, but the woman is raunchy.

The duel turned out to be an ambush, then an outright slaughter in the Chantry. Normally I would prefer not to kill people in the Chantry, on the off-chance the Maker had his fill of blood after Andraste razed most of the Tevinter Imperium… but given the choice between fighting in a chantry and dying in a chantry, I will risk it. I put a small donation toward the clean-up in the offertory on the way out, just in case.

I never realized how eerie it is to be in the Chantry at night, all dark and quiet and echo-y. The last time I was in a chantry that late was the year Father died. Mother wanted us all to attend the midnight Funalis-eve service, where the only light is from the candles everyone holds in remembrance of the departed, and the Revered Mother recounts Andraste's death and reads from the Canticle of Trials.

_Draw your last breath, my friends,_  
_Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky._  
_Rest at the Maker's right hand,_  
_And be Forgiven._

I suppose some might find that uplifting. I thought it was thoroughly depressing, and a little gruesome how the Chanters lit a small bonfire under the statue of Andraste. Besides, Bethany was terrified the entire time.

I much prefer celebrating Funalis in the more secular fashion, with dancing around the communal bonfires, roasting sausages, bobbing for apples. Little boys pretend to be Maferath or Hessarian, chasing all the squealing Andrastes around the fire with sticks.

Maker, but I used to play a dramatic Andraste.

I would run and run, then stop suddenly and hold out my arms, a stoic look on my face as the Maferaths (usually including Carver) would haul me near the bonfire. Then all the Hessarians would jab at me "mercifully" with sticks, and I would howl and beat at imaginary flames licking up my body, before collapsing to the ground and assuming a regal repose.

On second thought, I suppose that might actually be even more gruesome than attending the Chant. Such is the innocence of youth.

But back to Isabela. She will be joining us, as I had hoped. From the conversation she held in the Chantry with Hayder, I gather that her life is currently forfeit to an old associate over the loss of a boatload of slaves and a missing relic of some sort. It was a lot to take in so the details are a bit muddy. I'm sure we can sort it all out, given a little time.

It will be so good to have another at my back. My small band of magi-plus-a-dwarf is quite deadly in their own way, but it requires me to be the sole distractor, human shield and close-quarter fighter. Aveline would not thank me for dragging her into most of these skirmishes only to have me hide behind her shield, especially now that she is to be made Guard Captain. My battered armor and bruised body will thank having Isabela to share the task now.

* * *

Isabela lounged sideways in one of the chairs in Varric's suite, impossibly long legs dangling over its arm as she nursed several fingers-worth of whiskey. She watched Hawke writing, sparing only an occasional glance for Varric, who was cleaning and polishing Bianca.

Isabela suddenly sighed dramatically. Varric glanced at her, smiling ruefully. Hawke spoke without looking up from her scribing. "Bored, Isabela?" she asked in a light, conversational tone.

"Maker, _yes_," the pirate captain exclaimed with relief. "Hurry up and let's go find something to _do_," she whined. "Or someone," she added with a smirk.

Hawke tutted with chuckling disapproval, but she put down her quill and fanned the ink dry. "You are the worst," she chided, closing her journal.

Isabela threw back her whiskey and licked her lips lasciviously. "Actually, I'm the best. Care to find out?" she drawled, giving Hawke a heated look.

Hawke felt her face growing warm. "Ohhh, no. No, no, no. I've no interest in becoming one of your hobbies, or conquests, or notches, or whatever you call it," she said warningly, trying to keep the discomfort out of her voice.

Isabela's face changed instantly to a petulant, sullen pout. "Fine. Your loss," she said, all hints of seduction gone from her voice. "Varric?" she asked, half-heartedly, but Varric was already holding up a hand to stop her.

"I could never be unfaithful to Bianca," he said, running a finger down the crossbow's now-gleaming stock, real tenderness creasing his eyes. "And stop looking at my chest," he added. "My eyes are up here." He pointed two fingers at his eyes.

"But the chest hair," Isabela whined lamely.

"Do you know how much I suffer under your gaze? I am a person, not an object!" he said testily. Isabela lifted an eyebrow at his vehemence. Varric chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. "Just shitting you."

Isabela snorted indelicately and stood. "_Fine_," she said again, more frustrated than before. She stomped out of the room, wafting the scent of whiskey behind her. Hawke watched her heading for her usual stool at the bar.

_Andraste's frilly knickers, if I had one-fifth her confidence and one-tenth her libido, I'd have a dozen children by a dozen different fathers. The woman is insatiable!_ Hawke shook her head to herself.

Varric saw her looking after Isabela. "Our Rivaini is something else. Skilled, useful, mysterious. She tells outrageous stories almost as well as I do," he said with admiration. He and Hawke both cringed as they observed Isabela decking a mostly-drunk and half-besotted admirer who tried to grope her. The man crumpled into a heap for a few moments, then began to slowly crawl his way back to his table.

Hawke shook her head again ruefully. "Aveline is going to just _love_ her," she sighed.

Varric reached across the table, beckoning at her journal with his hand when it proved out of reach of his short arms. Hawke slid it the rest of the way over to him. He settled back in his chair, opening the book and thumbing back through the last few pages. His eyes scanned the words as he spoke.

"When Anders gets here, I want us to go speak to someone in the marketplace," he said, voice low.

Hawke shifted in her chair, growing attentive. "New work?" she asked, pressing her fingers to the tabletop as she leaned over in excitement. "Something big?"

Varric flipped a page and continued reading without meeting her eyes, but he nodded slightly. "Maybe. Caught wind that one of the dwarven merchants might be looking to hire a crew for something... a little less above-board than great axes or heavy armor."

Hawke's eyes grew troubled. "Smuggling? Maker, Varric! You know how I feel about that." She sat back in disgust. "I had my fill of smuggling, working for Athenril. I hated it. It just makes things worse, giving money to the desperate and extorting money from the even _more_ desperate."

Varric shrugged, but he looked at her sympathetically. "Work is scarce, with so many of those desperate folk willing to do the easy jobs. I only know about this one because of my extensive connections in the Dwarven Merchants Guild," he said placatingly. "Rumor has been going around for a while, but I just put a name to it today. I've heard of the guy. Anso. He's pretty clean. It shouldn't be anything too distasteful."

Hawke still looked dissatisfied. "Anso? I've heard that name. Athenril sent me a letter about him a day or two ago, but I ignored it. That woman is nothing but trouble."

Varric sighed.

"It took a lot for me to chase this rumor, Hawke. There must be something to it if Athenril passed it to you. Let's at least talk to the fellow and see what he has to say?" he asked. When Hawke still looked unconvinced, he added, "It could be a lot of money, Hawke. If he's into what I think he's into, we're talking enough gold for Bartrand and then some." His eyes glittered hungrily, but his voice was calm and rational.

Hawke finally sighed in resignation and gave short nod of assent. "You're right. Of course you're right. We'll go speak with this Anso, see what he needs." She stood and walked to the small hearth, warming her hands in front of the fire.

She gave a slight smile. "Who knows? Maybe this could be the one," she said, hope tinging her voice.


	9. Interlude: Moonlight on a Long Night

**A/N:** Little bit of novelization, but I don't want to skip over Hawke and Fenris meeting just because there's no convenient time for her to write in her journal between Lowtown and Hightown!

As always, Bioware owns all of Thedas and everyone who lives in it. I'm just a meddler.

* * *

"It's no wonder Anso was so jumpy," Hawke said, nudging the nearest body face up with the toe of her boot. She crouched and deftly searched inside pockets, pouches and gloves, her fingers slipping rings and coins into her own pouch with practiced swiftness.

Anders prodded the butt of his staff at another of their unfortunate foes, leaning down to inspect the body only when he was satisfied the man was truly dead. "The iron grip of the Chantry ensures that lyrium stays in high demand, Marian. Their precious Templars would just be bullies in skirts without it. And Maker forbid you let mages have access to it without prior authorization." The darkness hid his face, but the anger in his voice was clear.

"What does lyrium taste like? It's very blue. I bet it tastes like blueberries," Isabela said conversationally from where she stood under a nearby torch. She held weapons aloft in the firelight, comparing a short, straight knife to one of her own curved daggers.

Hawke chuckled. "Bethany says it tastes fizzy, like cider gone hard. And a little chalky. Otherwise, it has no particular flavor."

"It tastes like liberty," Anders said bitterly. Isabela and Hawke both rolled their eyes, then, seeing each other had the same reaction, they began to snicker.

Hawke schooled her expression as Anders straightened up stiffly. He narrowed his eyes and shot each of them a withering glance.

Isabela was undeterred. "Addictive, chalky liberty? No thanks, I'll stick to whiskey." She tucked the short knife away and dropped her old dagger into a nearby barrel, dusting her hands off. "Well, I'm done here."

Hawke dropped a few last coins and trinkets into her pouch, then stood, walking over to join Anders and Isabela in the circle of torchlight just outside the door of the smuggler's hideout.

She surveyed the small battlefield that lay before them in the Alienage square. "I still don't understand. Why such a large ambush for an empty chest? And this armor," she said, pausing to point first at the breastplate on a nearby corpse, then at the helm with its eerie steel face mask. "I've not seen armor like this before."

"And there was at least one mage among them. Using blood magic," Anders added, his voice grim. "Maybe Varric will find some clue inside that we overlooked." He leaned over, looking through the open doorway of the hovel.

"Maybe if it's written on the underside of a table," Hawke said with a snort. "I checked the place over myself."

Varric emerged from the house just then, still warily carrying Bianca in his hands. "Nothing. I don't understand it! I thought for sure there had to be a trap door leading to a tunnel or a secret cache or something," he said. "This is all wrong. Let's go back, talk to Anso."

"This is why I hate smuggling jobs. I warned you, Varric," Hawke said with a weary sigh as she led them across the Alienage square, towards the steps that led back to the Lowtown market.

She pulled up short as a man in the same strange steel armor as the ambushers descended the steps, murder flashing in his eyes.

"I don't know who you are, _friend_," he sneered, "but you made a serious mistake coming here."

_Tell me about it,_ Hawke thought tiredly.

Before she could think of a witty retort however, the man turned his head slightly and bellowed to someone over his shoulder. He didn't take his eyes off her. "Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing. Now!"

Hawke heard her companions shifting behind her, readying for battle. Her own hand twitched toward her daggers, but stilled when she heard a pained groan from further up the steps.

"C-captain… urgh!" was all the unfortunate lieutenant managed to burble, as he staggered toward the captain then slumped to the ground in a pool of his own blood. The captain turned in disbelief. Hawke could see he was shaking, but whether from rage or fear, she couldn't tell.

She raised an eyebrow. _At least I'm not the only one having a strange night._

"Your men are dead, and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you still can," called an angry voice that sounded like rough stones and shards of ice tumbling down a mountainside.

Hawke stiffened.

A dark, lean figure rounded the top of the stair, and stepped casually over the fallen lieutenant. He seemed to flow down the steps with an effortless grace. He brushed passed the captain as if the enraged man didn't even exist.

He stopped before Hawke. He looked at her.

It seemed as though every hair on Hawke's body stood suddenly on end._ He's… an elf_, she thought dumbly.

The elf seemed to glow. Long, pointed ears peeked out from beneath the curtain of white hair reflecting brilliantly in the moonlight. The soft, silver light highlighted the delicate angles of his face. Silvery-white lines curved sinuously beneath his lower lip, down his chin and neck. Where his wicked, black pauldrons tapered away near his forearms, more silvery-white vines caressed his arms. He stood barefoot, and even his feet shone with long, tapering markings that ended at each of his long toes. He was tall, and Hawke found herself looking up slightly to meet his eyes. They were expressive, green, and hard. Like mossy stones kissed with dew, they glittered with defiance.

"You're going nowhere, slave!" A hand clapped the elf roughly on the shoulder. The captain snarled, and his fingers dug cruelly into the elf's flesh.

"I am not a slave!" bellowed the elf as he whirled. Blue light suddenly seemed to emanate from him. He grabbed the captain by the neck with his left hand and drew back his right arm, making a fist.

Hawke noticed for the first time that the elf wore gloves that resembled dark, metal claws. Her eyes were drawn up his arm, tracing veins of glowing blue that now played over his skin.

_Under his skin_, she realized.

The light became intense then, and she had to squint her eyes against the brightness of it. Half-blinded, all Hawke heard were several disturbing noises. The elf's savage, wordless cry; the cracking of bone; the meaty, wet sucking sound of blood and torn flesh.

She opened her eyes just as the elf was removing his entire forearm from the man's chest. The blue light dimmed like the life slipping from the captain's eyes. A weak huff marked the captain's last breath as his rent body clattered lifelessly to the ground.

Hawke felt dizzy. She drew in a sharp breath as she realized she had stopped breathing at some point. Behind her, Varric whistled appreciatively. It must have caught the elf's attention, for he turned away from glowering at the captain's corpse and faced Hawke and her companions.

"I apologize," he said with a small nod, his face showing no trace of the rage that had just claimed him. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so… numerous," he said, a wry smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

Hawke fought off the urge to gape openly. _He just punched a man through the chest. Through steel armor! And the first thing he does is apologize?_ _Andraste's squealing knicker-weasels, but his armor is tight..._

Varric cleared his throat and Hawke felt a crossbow nudging her in the small of her back.

She shook herself out of her reverie. "Don't worry, we do this sort of thing often," she said with a casual shrug. That gave the elf pause. Hawke felt her momentary cool slip away again when he gave her a slight smile.

"Impressive." He waited several heartbeats for her to respond.

She stood there looking up at him mutely, so he continued.

"My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters, seeking to recover a magister's lost property… namely myself," he explained. "They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone," he said with a shrug.

He looked at her companions then back at Hawke appraisingly. "Thankfully, Anso chose wisely," he said, the appreciative tone in his voice bringing a slight flush to Hawke's cheeks.

"Anso's job did seem a little too easy," she said, smiling sheepishly. Her cheeks burned when Fenris smiled back.

"Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so, I am sorry," he said, sobering. "I have become to accustomed to hiding."

Hawke sensed a backstory. "That seems like a lot of effort to find one slave," she said.

"It is."

Hawke blinked when he did not elaborate. She hesitated before prying further. "Does this have something to do with those markings?" She gestured to his arm. Fenris held his arms out slightly, looking at them, and Hawke couldn't help but notice the lithe, taut muscles that flexed when he moved.

"Hmm, yes," he said with a slight chuckle. "I imagine I must look strange to you." His arms dropped back to his sides, and Fenris met her gaze again. "I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them, I would still be a slave."

Hawke raised an eyebrow as she considered what he said. She heard a swish of robes behind her, and suddenly Anders was at her side.

"Everything Anso said was a lie then?" he demanded. Hawke wondered if Anders was angry that there was no lyrium to steal from the Templars.

Fenris's gaze slid coolly to Anders. "Not everything. Your employer was simply not who you believed."

"If they were really trying to recapture you, then I'm happy we helped," Hawke cut in. Anders turned away, irritated.

"I have met few in my travels who have sought anything more than personal gain," Fenris said graciously, ignoring Anders too. "If I may ask, what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house?"

"It was empty," Varric piped up from behind her.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so, I had to know." Fenris seemed somewhat disappointed.

"You were expecting something else?" she asked.

"I was, but I shouldn't have. It was bait, nothing more." He shook his head as if to shake off the disappointment.

"You didn't need to lie to get my help, you know," Hawke said softly. She found herself intrigued by Fenris. She could empathize with his plight.

Flashes of Hawke's own desperate situation filled her mind – fleeing from Ostagar and then Lothering, with the darkspawn at her heels._ It doesn't hurt that he's tall, dark and handsome, either..._

"That remains to be seen," Fenris said, though not unkindly. He turned away and bent over the wretched corpse of the captain, searching it. After a few moments, the elf straightened, holding a folded square parchment.

Hawke craned her neck over Fenris's shoulder, curious as he unfolded the message. "What does it say?"

He ignored her question, eyes quickly scanning the page. He inspected the blood-red seal that clung to one edge of the paper, and he growled.

He turned back to her, eyes once again dark and dangerous. "It's as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city." He turned the parchment and showed her the heavy wax seal. Hawke could see that it was an imprint of arcane runes, but she could not read them. Still, she supposed it was the kind of sigil a magister of the Tevinter Imperium would use. "I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I will need your help," Fenris said fiercely, but Hawke could hear a hint of desperation in his request.

"You lured me into a trap, and now you want my help?" she asked incredulously, then felt stupid when she realized how petulant she sounded.

"If Anso had told you to divert an ambush of Tevinter bounty hunters, would you have done it?" Fenris shot back. His sudden flare of anger hit her like a physical blow, and she took a half-step back.

"Fair enough," she said warily. He noticed her withdrawal and held out a hand placatingly.

"Had I known of you earlier, I might have asked you personally. I had only Anso to rely on, I fear," he said with a sigh. "I am not lying to you now. Please help me do this." He said it without any hint of desperation this time. Just a man making a sincere request of her.

"It sounds like you intend to do more than just talk," Hawke said.

The danger in Fenris's voice was back in a flash. He paced restlessly. "Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has sent so many hunters that I have lost count. And before that, he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom. So yes, I intend to do more than just _talk_." His fists were tight, his deep voice raspy with simmering hatred.

Hawke realized she was breathless again, so took a long inhalation before she spoke. "If it means fighting more slavers, I'll help you," she said with a firm nod.

Relief softened his hardened features. "I will find a way to repay you, I swear it." He began to move away. "The magister is staying at a mansion in Hightown. It's near the Chantry — I will be waiting out front. Meet me there as soon as you can. We must enter before morning."

Hawke nodded and he flashed another smile before he turned and left.

_Well, at least I'll have something more exciting than lyrium smuggling to write about in my journal… once this night finally ends,_ Hawke thought as she watched him go.

"Fenris... hmm." She quietly tasted his name on her lips in the moonlight.


	10. Too Interesting

Hawke's fingers trail up toned arms, following the twisting tattoos upward to caress strong, stiff shoulders. She kneads, the rigid muscles relaxing. The brooding elf becomes pliable, growing languid under her ministrations. His eyes slip closed, head lolling back, exposing his long, elegant neck. Hawke dips her head and, with the tip of her tongue, lightly traces the sinuous markings that lead from his collarbone up his chin. When she reaches his lips, she pressed hers against them in a soft, warm kiss.

"Marian," he whispers, voice hoarse.

Hawke murmurs, "Fenris…" She clutches at him, and he feels so light and soft in her arms.

"Marian," he says again, voice louder, higher. She moves her hand up to the tip of his ear, tracing along its soft edges.

"Mmmm, Fenris…" she murmurs again.

* * *

"Sister, wake up. Anders is here. It's time to go to The Hanged Man."

Hawke's eyes fluttered open. The pillow she clutched to her face obscured the view of Bethany standing on tiptoe peering into her bunk. She groaned, realizing she had been dreaming, and chucked the pillow aside as she turned onto her back.

"Balls," she said with a sleepy sigh before swinging her legs over the side of the bunk and lowering herself to the floor.

"Were you talking in your sleep?" Bethany asked as Hawke moved to the dented washbasin and splashed cold water on her face.

Hawke didn't reply as she performed her ablutions. Her head hung over the basin, water dripping from the tip of her nose and her long eyelashes. She could barely make out her wavering reflection in the water. She shivered as flashes from her dream rippled through her thoughts.

"I hope it wasn't anything bad," Bethany said quietly. "You know Mother and I both sometimes dream about Carver's dea… of when we left Lothering," she finished hesitantly.

Hawke shook her head and began to pat her face dry with a scratchy, tattered cloth. She turned to face Bethany, brow furrowed. "No. It was nothing like that." Then she laughed, adding, "It was actually a very good one." She couldn't suppress a roguish grin.

Bethany giggled, "Well, I'm sorry if I interrupted anything. Uncle Gamlen tried to come in here three times this morning, but Mother told him that you'd had a late night, and shooed him away."

Hawke shuddered at the thought of waking from her pleasant dream to the sight and smell of Gamlen. She began pulling on clothes and armor. "You should go keep Anders company," she told Bethany. "Before Gamlen starts hitting him up for money."

"Oh Maker, you are right." Bethany blanched and hurried out of the room.

* * *

"I don't see why we even need him," Anders said bitterly as he skewered a sausage, which he then pointed at Hawke emphatically. "You are amazing in battle, and with Isabela or Aveline by your side, and me healing…" He trailed off as he bit into the sausage and chewed, still waving the sausage around mimicking the motion of casting healing spells.

Hawke waved off his comment with her teaspoon. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Anders," she said tiredly, "but just because your healing fades the cuts and bruises doesn't mean I enjoy receiving them." She took a sip of the strong, hot tea that she had been surprised to find was served at the oft-belittled Hanged Man. Apparently Corff used it to reinvigorate hungover guests who stayed the night in the handful of rooms in the back. It was surprisingly good.

"He is a skilled warrior, then?" Bethany asked from where she sat near Anders's elbow. She had eaten already, so contented herself with a cup of goat's milk which she toyed with idly.

Hawke vaguely wondered if Corff kept a goat around the tavern somewhere, or if the milk was delivered fresh daily — at least she hoped it was fresh. "He's got quite a blade, and he knows how to use it," she said, turning her mind back to the subject of Fenris.

Her ears went hot as Isabela snickered from the other end of the table and said, "You know what they say about men with big swords…"

Hawke tried to ignore her jibe. "He has some very unique talents," she continued, then groaned when she realized that had not sounded much better.

Isabela laughed again, and leaned over looking conspiratorial. In a stage-whisper, she told Bethany, "He sticks his hand into people and does this magical… fisting thing." The pirate captain made a fist and thrust it in a crude manner, then crinkled her nose in delight and wiggled lasciviously.

Bethany's jaw dropped open and she hurriedly placed her hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Anders scowled at his plate.

"I wish I could un-see that," Varric said uncomfortably, and turned to face the fire, his head shaking.

"What I _meant_ was," Hawke said loudly, shooting a glare at Isabela, "is that he seems very capable and quite useful to take with us, now that Aveline is busy with the Guard."

"Very capable of taking his 'big sword' and stabbing me or Bethany or Merrill in the back, you mean," Anders said angrily. "I can't believe you of all people would invite him to join us, Marian. That elf is almost worse than a templar!" Anders gripped his knife and fork in white-knuckled hands.

Bethany looked from Anders to Hawke, confused. "He's an elf? And he is wary of mages, I take it? Though from what you explained of his master in Tevinter, I can guess as to why," she said quietly. She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her milk cup, looking ashamed.

"He told me he would work with all of you. Well, I didn't really have time to explain about you specifically, or Merrill… but yes, he is a little..." Hawke searched a moment for the right word, "… skittish about magic after his experiences under the Tevinter magisters."

"Skittish? You make him sound like a scared pup, not the rabid wolf he is!" Anders threw his utensils down with disgust and stood. His sudden explosive movements nearly caused Bethany to tip onto the floor. He began to pace around Varric's room furiously.

Bethany looked at Hawke, her face alarmed. Isabela ignored the ruckus, but Varric watched Anders out of the corner of his eye.

Hawke's own expression hardened. "Calm down, Anders. Fenris just doesn't know any of you yet. He is no threat to you, no threat to any of you." Anders continued pacing, his hands flexing into tight fists. He didn't seem to hear her; Hawke thought she heard him muttering to himself. "Anders. Anders? Anders!" Hawke said his name sharply, punctuating it at last with a fist slammed into the tabletop.

Plates, cups and utensils rattled. Everyone froze.

Anders stopped and slowly turned his head to stare at her. His eyes seemed… different. They almost glowed with a dark, seething power. The sight of it took Hawke's breath away, and she recoiled. Anders blinked and then it was gone, his expression still angry and hurt, but no longer menacing.

Hawke stared at him, her own expression moving from stern to surprised to concerned. "Anders?" she asked carefully. He looked away. "Justice," she said softly as she realized what had just passed between them.

His head fell forward in a half-nod of confirmation, his chin tucked into his chest. He suddenly looked much smaller, and so sad. Anders stood like that for a moment before he turned and left. He did not meet her eyes again.

Bethany was staring silently into her goat's milk. Isabela gave a small snort and returned her attention to sharpening a dagger. Varric sighed.

Hawke watched Anders's back retreat until the door of The Hanged Man banged shut behind him. She reached over and patted Bethany's hand absentmindedly as she watched him leave. "He'll come around... eventually," she said without much conviction.

The room was silent for a moment, the only noises the soft rasp of Isabela's whetstone and the crackle of the fire.

Hawke piped up after a few moments. "And don't let him scare you about Fenris. He'll love you just like everyone does." She smiled encouragingly as Bethany looked up at her. "A sweet mage with a big heart will be a good start to convincing him not all mages are terrible."

Varric chimed in. "Yeah, Sunshine. You'll lift the dark little raincloud that's hanging over the elf's head. Blondie's too, when he comes back." Bethany smiled weakly at Varric.

"We'll go visit Fenris tomorrow, Bethany, I'll introduce you. We can take him a housewarming gift," Hawke mused as the idea occurred to her. "I like him. He's interesting, you'll see." She shrugged nonchalantly.

Bethany's smile faded as she studied Hawke as if puzzled. Then she gave Hawke a slow, knowing look.

Hawke schooled her expression to one of innocence, but she could feel the flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Ah, I see," was all Bethany said, though her eyes danced with amusement.

* * *

**10 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

I've never found myself attracted to an elf before. In Ferelden, the few elves that lived near us were always wretched and down-trodden, and they kept entirely to themselves. There were also many elves in Athenril's smuggling gang, but they were bitter and even more insular than the poor Fereldan elves. They despised Bethany and me for rising quickly through the ranks of the smuggling ring. Needless to say, we received somewhere between zero and no invitations to dance, drink or dine with any of them.

We were all rather surprised to find that the lyrium smuggling job we took on last night was actually a job assisting an escaped Tevinter slave... a deadly, elven one at that. His name is Fenris, and apparently his master is one of the powerful and corrupt magisters that rule the Tevinter Imperium. He imbued Fenris with all kinds of strange lyrium markings to give him powers. Unfortunately for the magister, it seems it gave Fenris enough power to escape and evade recapture.

Fenris is a warrior unlike anything I've ever heard of or ever seen. He swings a greatsword with ease and moves like the wind. I saw him rip out the heart a Tevinter bounty hunter with his bare hand… through the man's steel breastplate. I should have been horrified, but I admit the sheer power of him gave me a raw sort of thrill. Plus that bastard slave-hunter deserved it.

We tried to help him find and confront his former master, Danarius, whom Fenris suspected was actually in Kirkwall, but alas Danarius escaped. Fenris offered to join us while he waits for Danarius to return, and I accepted his offer. We could use someone like him on the Deep Roads expedition, since I would never ask Aveline to take a hiatus from the Guard for such a trip.

Fenris was rather dismayed to discover Anders was a mage. That went over poorly with Anders, who seemed to take a disliking to Fenris from the start. Fenris seems to think all mages will be corrupted by their power sooner or later. From the little he related to us of what he suffered at the hands of Danarius… well, I do not share his prejudice against mages, but I can see how he came by it. The mansion where Danarius was staying didn't fill up with shades and demons on accident. Still, I am satisfied that he will work alongside Anders, Merrill and Bethany… I just hope that I can keep him from discovering Justice, and Merrill's ill-advised blood magic. I would prefer to hear less of Anders's pro-mage tirades… Do you know, he's threatened to write a manifesto?

Fenris will adore Bethany; everyone does. I might take her to meet him tomorrow. What does one get for a housewarming gift for someone who's started squatting in a mansion? The place was in utter disarray, so perhaps a broom or a mop… and fruit? Candles? Wine?

I definitely look forward to seeing more of Fenris. He has a quiet, almost brooding demeanor that makes him… I don't know, mysterious? Alluring? Irresistible?

He's clearly had a hard life and it has taken its toll on him, but I know what it is to live on the run, to hide, to never be able to trust anyone. Without a family, without love, what would I have become? How much worse to be a slave, to be leashed and forced to do Maker-knows-what by the magisters? I do not know the whole of his story, but maybe, in time, we can get to know each other.

He is quite handsome and his lyrium markings, though they may sound strange, are quite beautiful. He seems tall for an elf and his hair is white. He is uncommonly strong for an elf too, though he remains lean and lithe, much like the Dalish. Maybe the lyrium in his skin has changed him in some ways?

Last night, I was struck by how uncommonly well-spoken and polite he is, even when he was being argumentative. I suspect that, as a favorite slave of a powerful magister, these were essential traits Danarius… instilled in him.

I could swear he was flirting with me. Maker knows I tried flirting with him, though it felt like I was standing on my tongue most of the time. Next time I will be ready.

I dreamt of him last night. It has been a long time since I had dreams that were pleasant. I wouldn't mind if they continued… Who knows, maybe with some pointers from Isabela, I could even stand a decent chance of making them come true?


	11. Warming Up

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all the reviews and alerts. I am so happy that you are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. As promised, the Fenris fluff is here! Hopefully, you will agree that the novelization of this scene has been fluffed up enough to make it worth reading through the conversation again ;)

Thank you again for the reviews! And as always, Bioware owns everything.

* * *

**11 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Bethany has taken to her bed with a sudden illness. She seemed fine when we were at the market filling a gift basket up for Fenris. We picked out some bread, good cheeses, fruits, nuts and vegetables. Undoubtedly his pantry contains nothing still edible. I bought a few sundries for his 'toilette', as the Orlesians would say; soap, tooth powder, a comb, a razor… Now that I think on it, I don't think elves grow beards… but he can always use it as a weapon. I used to brandish Father's razor around when I was small, much to Mother's horror.

I also found some lovely scented beeswax candles that should cover up the scent of blood until the next good rain washes most of it away — at least that mansion's alarmingly dilapidated roof lets in plenty of fresh air and cleansing rain.

Needless to say, it is a good-sized basket, full of useful housewarming things of which any squatter would have need. And now I have to go deliver it by myself.

Bethany made such a show of groaning and clutching at her head and stomach. She said she felt flushed and feverish — I hope it is nothing serious. The symptoms seem numerous, and she says her own healing has not helped it abate.

Mother is out at the Chantry again, but Bethany promised to lie down until her return. She is adamant that I not to put off my visit on her account. "Fenris will need to eat and bathe before he meets me anyway," she said piteously from beneath her blanket. I offered to drop by Anders's clinic and send him along, but Bethany told me not to trouble him. I left her a draught of elfroot to sip on while I am away.

She is right, of course. She can meet Fenris tomorrow, before we all head off to chase down a lead Varric has on some templar activity in the Alienage. The Alienage is just around the corner from our little slum hut, and Merrill's home is there too, so if I can help speed the templars along their merry way, so much the better for all of us.

Well, I should get going. The day is already growing late and Gamlen keeps trying to slip his filthy hands under the nice white linen cloth I draped over Fenris's basket. If I don't leave soon, I'll have to gut my dear uncle to retrieve Fenris's bread.

* * *

A few moments after she heard the hovel door bang shut, Bethany pulled the blanket off her head. She reached up and felt around under Marian's pillow and pulled out the journal, which her sister had just stowed there before quietly leaving her to her rest.

Smiling to herself as she read over the last few entries, Bethany nodded with satisfaction.

* * *

Hawke tucked the basket under one arm as she wound her way up through the streets of Kirkwall. Ruff trotted at her side, his wide tongue lolling out as he panted, his mouth seeming to smile widely. She ignored the cries of merchants and mendicants as she passed through Lowtown; in turn, she was ignored by the fawning shop-keepers and swanning nobles when she walked through Hightown.

As she passed by the Chantry, Hawke craned her head over the crowd and looked for her mother, in case she was chatting away nearby, unaware that her youngest daughter was home feeling ill. She did not see Leandra anywhere, however, so she proceeded up the steps that led to a nearby quiet and wealthy neighborhood.

When she reached the landing, she paused, looking this way and that, trying to reorient herself in the right direction. When she had last been here, it had been dark, and Fenris had been standing outside waiting for her. Hawke finally noticed a rather overgrown, shabby entryway to her left, with no brightly colored awnings unlike the other grand estates. She walked over to the door and recognized the alcove where she had found Fenris leaning against the wall the other night, brooding over Danarius's escape and where he had quarreled with her over mages.

Hawke hesitantly knocked on the door, hoping she had the right house. _Maker, but it would be embarrassing if someone's butler opens the door and I have to ask for directions... _She waited tensely for a minute before rapping on the door again. Leaning in close, she called out, "Fenris? It's me. Hello?"

No answer.

_Maybe he's out?_ she thought to herself as she looked around the empty square. _Where would he have gone, though? He gave me all the coin he had for helping him, so I doubt he went shopping._ She knocked again, louder, her stomach fluttering. She placed her ear to the door and strained for any sound inside.

Hawke heard nothing.

Her mind started to fill with dark, uneasy thoughts. _What if we didn't get all the shades… or all the slavers? What if Danarius returned after we left and Fenris went to sleep? He could be in trouble, or hurt... or worse. Andraste's sanctified ass, I should have come to check on him sooner!_

Hawke hurriedly set down the basket, shooing Ruff away from it when he made to sniff at its contents. The mabari tilted his head to the side, watching her as she looked around to make sure the square was still empty. When she still saw no one, she quickly slipped her lockpicks out of their small pouch on her belt.

Kneeling in front of the door, she eyed the keyhole as she inspected the rusty, old lock. From her kit, she plucked out a long rake pick and a thin hooked tool to turn the lock once she had it opened. She clamped the other picks in her teeth and began to slide the tools into place.

Suddenly, the door flew open and her lockpicks went skittering across the broken tiles of the mansion's entryway. Hawke found herself staring directly at Fenris's tightly black-clad groin. The rest of her lockpicks dropped from her mouth to the flagstones, tinkling as they fell. Cheeks burning, she forced herself to look up.

"Ah… Fenris. You're in after all," Hawke stammered, trying to sound cheerful. "I was worried some misfortune had befallen you and you could not answer the door."

Fenris sheathed his greatsword, the hint of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Hawke. When I heard the lock being picked, I thought it was the Guard, or more hunters." He leaned casually against the open door, watching her gather up her lockpicks.

"You heard that, but you didn't hear me calling for you?" Hawke asked incredulously. She tucked away her tools and rose quickly, knowing she must look thoroughly ridiculous.

"Yes, well... 'It's me' didn't exactly elucidate who was at the door," he responded dryly.

"Oh. Right." She looked down sheepishly as she brushed off her pants, then picked up the basket. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I just came to pay you a visit," she explained, trying to calm her racing heart. "When you didn't answer, my imagination sort of… got carried away."

Fenris looked at her, his head cocked to one side. "The door was unlocked. Did you not even try the handle?"

Hawke's face felt positively aflame with embarrassment. "N-no. I… I didn't think to." She laughed, a little too loudly. "I figured you'd have it barred shut, after… everything…" She trailed off as words failed her.

Fenris laughed then, a deep chuckle that seemed to rumble up from low in his chest. "I have good ears, Hawke, and I am a light sleeper. Bounty hunters tend to kick in doors, so why should I bother hunting for the key to this... place?" He waved a hand around dismissively.

Hawke tried not to glance at the beautiful sweep of his ears when he mentioned them. "Oh," was all she managed in response.

Fenris chuckled again, then straightened and swung the door open further, bowing slightly as he swept an arm expansively. "Please, come in. You are welcome anytime, Hawke. My squalid mansion is your squalid mansion."

Hawke smiled as she entered, stooping quickly to retrieve the two lockpicks that had been flung into the foyer. Ruff bounded in behind her and began to sniff around Fenris and the floor, his nose whuffling furiously.

Fenris shut the door, eying the dog as it explored the dusty benches, chipped pottery, and cobwebbed corners of the foyer. "I assume he's yours, and not just some random animal…?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, yes, sorry, I hope you don't mind. I forget that I didn't have him with me the other night." She patted her thigh with her free hand. "Ruff, c'mere boy. Meet Fenris." The mabari sat in front of her, facing Fenris.

Hawke gestured an introduction from the dog to him. "Ruff, this is my friend Fenris." She gestured in the other direction. "Fenris, this is Ruff."

Ruff cocked his head at Fenris. Fenris cocked his head at Ruff. Hawke beamed at both of them.

"Hello… Ruff," he said warily. Hawke giggled when he said the dog's name, for with his deep, gravely voice, it sounded almost exactly like he was imitating a dog's bark.

Ruff slid his front paws out and gave a sort of dog bow, then barked at Fenris. His tail thumped happily as he sat back up. Fenris chuckled, and he gave a short, polite bow to the dog in return. As he straightened, he turned to Hawke.

"Quite a beast you have there. He is more polite than all of the magisters in the Imperium put together." Both his expression and tone were very wry.

Hawke leaned down and patted Ruff on the head. "He's a good boy," she said in a babying voice, smiling down at the dog. Ruff's tail thumped even harder, kicking up puffs of dust from the dirty floor.

Fenris gave her a curious look at hearing her adopt such a silly voice, then shook his head. He gestured at the basket she held under her other arm. "What have you there?"

She looked up from Ruff, still smiling. "Hmm? Oh, right!" She took the basket in both hands and held it out to Fenris. "This is for you. A housewarming present. You know, to make you feel welcome."

Fenris eyed the basket but did not take it. "What… is in it?" he asked, hesitant.

Hawke's arms began to burn with the effort of holding the heavily-laden basket aloft. "Gifts. Food. Sundries. House… warming… things," she explained, stepping forward and pressing the basket into his hands. He reluctantly took it from her and she stepped back, clasping her hands behind her.

He stared down at it for a moment before his brow wrinkled. "Why does it smell like… cheese?" Fenris sniffed one side of the basket through the linen draping.

Hawke grinned at him encouragingly. "Let's go put it down, and then you can find out." Nodding slowly, he led her further into the mansion. Ruff circled three times and plopped down, making himself comfortable by the front door.

Fenris guided Hawke up to the large study where they had expected to find Danarius hiding behind locked doors. Hawke looked around at the sparse furnishings, noticing that he had dragged some things out and brought a few different things in. The room now more resembled a one-room dwelling than a merchant's study.

A long, polished dining table stood near the door, but the only seating it had was two plush armchairs. Fenris set the basket on the edge of the table and removed the linen cloth, holding it up between thumb and forefinger to inspect it suspiciously before setting it aside. Hawke took the opportunity to look around a bit more as he started rummaging through his gifts.

A pair of benches flanked the fireplace, which had a cozy fire roaring away in it. Pewter mugs, sheaves of paper, and bottles all perched precariously on the benches. Books and overturned tables were strewn about the periphery of the room, along with a few wardrobes which hung open. The contents of the wardrobes either spilled out of them or lay in piles alongside. A rumpled bed was pushed into the far corner, thick, lavish coverlet and decadent throw pillows tossed haphazardly onto the floor. The bedlinens that remained looked silky, soft, and warm.

Hawke tried not to think about how comfortable sleeping in that rich bed must be, nor about sharing it with its current owner.

"Thank you, Hawke."

She nearly jumped a foot in the air. Fenris stood next to her, holding a large pillar candle in one hand, a cake of soap in the other. _Maker's breath, he is so quiet. I didn't hear him coming._

"Oh, you're very welcome, Fenris." She tried to keep her voice steady. "My sister, Bethany, helped me pick out some of the more essential things we thought you might need. I would have brought her to meet you, but she wasn't feeling well."

Fenris inclined his head to her in appreciation, then gestured for her to sit on one of the benches near the fire. He placed the candle on the table and returned the soap to the basket as he pulled out the other two candles, then sat them down next to the first.

Hawke waited silently, hands folded in her lap as Fenris moved to the fireplace and lit a fancy, brass candlelighter that he retrieved from the mantelpiece.

"It seems I am destined to be always indebted to you, Hawke," he said conversationally as he lit the candles. "I could not find any candles at all last night. It was quite dark in here with only the fire and moonlight." Hawke smiled as the faint smell of beeswax and blossoms began to fill the air. "Tell me," he continued, "do you make a habit of rewarding your employers instead of letting them reward you?"

She laughed and shook her head. "When I awoke yesterday, I realized you said you'd given me all the coin you had. You won't be of any use to me if you're half-starved and filthy... or if you've stubbed all your toes in the dark," she teased, looking at his nearly-bare feet. "Think nothing of it."

Fenris stared at her for a moment. "I see," he said finally said, tone a little flat — but she could hear the hint of amusement in his voice. He extinguished the candlelighter and laid it and his large sword on the table with a clatter. Turning to one of the chairs, he picked up a bottle of wine that had been laying there on its side.

Hawke stared at his back for a moment, admiring the view, then turned to look at the fire before he caught her watching. Shortly, she heard the soft pop of a cork, and Fenris walked over holding the now open wine bottle. She found herself watching him yet again.

"Agreggio Pavali," he explained as he examined the label. "There are six bottles in the cellar."

She raised an eyebrow. No wine connoisseur, she still knew it to be an expensive Tevinter vintage, and rare — it was supposed to have a very delicate flavor for a wine aged so long. _I've always wanted to try that. It's one of the few Tevinter wines that isn't all bold tannins and overpowering dryness._

Fenris continued, voice growing bitter. "Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed." His expression was flat and hard when he spoke of his former master.

The image of a shirtless Fenris leaning over her to pour wine into delicate crystal goblets leapt, unbidden, to Hawke's mind. _His eyes lowered, hidden behind the curtain of his hair. My hand reaching out and brushing his hair aside, caressing his cheek. He looks at me then, green eyes not ashamed. Instead, they are full of heat and need. I pull him down for a kiss, as wine spills carelessly over the lip of the overflowing glass…_

"I can't imagine why they would be put off," she said breathlessly, her mouth suddenly dry._ Maker's breath, did I say that out loud?_

Fenris stared at her for a long moment. "You say what's on your mind. I'll give you that."

Hawke tried to hold his eye confidently. _May as well make the best of this..._ Finally quirking a smile, he then lifted the wine bottle to her in toast. He took a long pull directly from it, lowering it when he finished and looking again at the label appreciatively. Then he cocked his arm back and threw the bottle against the far wall.

She flinched as the bottle shattered, spraying green glass and droplets of red wine all over the wall and table. The candles hissed and guttered as some of the spray fell onto them. She looked back to Fenris and raised an eyebrow.

"It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things," he said lightly.

"You could have offered me a _glass_ first, you know," she replied, a little exasperated.

Fenris gave a small shrug. "There's more in the basement… if you're really interested."

_Oh, I'm interested..._ she thought. Instead, she sarcastically pretended to be horrified. "Perish the thought! How else would you redecorate the walls?" He smirked at that, and she dropped the air of unconcerned haughtiness to give him a slow, flirtatious smile. She hoped it was similar to the one Isabela was always using on everyone to such rousing success.

Fenris actually laughed, the longest she'd heard him laugh yet.

_If his voice was less deep, I might have almost called that a giggle_, she mused.

"Hmmm…" he said, as his mirth faded. He closed his eyes, looking suddenly tired. "I've wanted to leave my past behind me, but it won't stay there." He sighed as he took a seat on the other bench, facing the fire.

Hawke watched him, waiting for him to continue. She didn't want to pry, but she _was_ curious about his past. But if she spoke, she was afraid it would startle him off the subject. So she sat quietly, turning to stare into the fire and hoping he'd continue speaking, as twilight fell and the room grew darker._  
_

"Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?" he asked finally, obviously looking for a way to change the subject.

She was a little surprised by his question, both since she had fallen into a bit of a daze while the silence stretched on and because of seemingly random nature of the subject. She'd barely mentioned coming from Ferelden in passing, but he'd clearly been thinking about it._ Thinking about me...  
_

Hawke gave a small, noncommittal shrug as she answered. "I grew up in Ferelden… It will always be my home."

"But the Blight is over," Fenris said earnestly. "You could return, rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?" He seemed baffled, eager for her to agree.

Her face tilted a fraction as she studied him, wondering at his intensity. "My family is here now," she said slowly, watching his expression. "Lothering was just the last place we lived. We lived there longest of anywhere, true, nearly ten years. But my mother came from Kirkwall. Our heritage is here." Then she looked down at her hands twisted together in her lap, adding quietly, "Besides, some things can't be rebuilt." Hawke could feel Fenris staring at her, considering her words.

"Having a place you can put down roots," he said thoughtfully after a moment's reflection. "I understand." She looked up at that, giving him a small nod. "Still," he continued, "to have the option must be gratifying…"

Hearing the sigh in his voice that he did not utter, she seized the opportunity to pose a question of her own. "Do you intend to keep living here?" she asked curiously, giving a small wave to take in the mansion and Kirkwall in general.

Fenris looked away, out the open door of the room and into the dark and cavernous mansion beyond— but Hawke could tell his eyes were seeing another place. She waited patiently for his answer. _Opening up is obviously difficult for him._ It was several minutes before he spoke.

"I haven't decided. For now, it's as good as any other place." His voice was oddly flat, like he was purposely trying to stay detached.

_Makes sense, _she thought._ He's been through worse than me, and with no one to rely upon but himself._ He fell silent for another long moment.

"I would return to Seheron if I could, but… there is no life for me there," he finally confessed.

"Is that where you're from?" she asked, gently prompting him.

"So I've been told."

She waited a few heartbeats for him to continue, but he did not. "Were you very young when you left there? Or when you were… taken away?"

"Perhaps," he answered flatly.

She heard the edge of warning in his voice, so dropped the topic. They both turned back to the fireplace and stared into it quietly, Fenris brooding, Hawke uneasy.

It grew fully dark outside, and the moonlight streamed in through narrow windows. She began to wonder how late it was. They'd sat in sullen silence for a good while, and Hawke was beginning to feel fidgety._ Perhaps I should just go_, she thought to herself._ I've gone and depressed him. Well done, Marian. Just what every man wants, a woman to remind him of darker times._ Yet she gritted her teeth, determined not to leave him in a worse mood than she'd found him. She searched for a topic that would to cheer him up.

"You could track down your former master down, I assume?" she offered finally. Fenris stiffened at the mention of Danarius.

_Smooth, real smooth. Depress him some more, that's one sure way to get him to have a few drinks with you... _she berated herself._  
_

"I imagine he returned to Minrathous, though I dare not go near the city while he is alive." He practically spat out the city's name and his expression had turned sour.

Hawke nodded in agreement. Though she wasn't some worldly scholar, she had learned enough from her avid reading and sporadic lessons at the Chantry schools to know Minrathous, the heart of the Tevinter Imperium, was a city full of corruption and danger — especially for a fugitive elven slave as distinctive as Fenris.

"No," he continued, growing defiant. "It is better to wait for him to leave his fortress. Fight from a fortified position."

She looked skeptically around the room, from a pile of moth-eaten curtains to the opulent bed in the corner. Fenris, however, looked at the floor, one fist clenched, eyes once again in a faraway place. Then he looked up at her, a slight smile lifting the corner of his lips as he noticed her eying the lackluster defenses in the room.

"I do not expect your help when that day comes," he said pointedly. "But I would not turn it aside."

_He doesn't necessarily mean to fight Danarius here, in this room, you clod-head_, she chastised herself. She nodded at him encouragingly and they fell into a more companionable silence this time.

Hawke's throat felt like it was closing off after their last exchange. _He keeps smiling at me. And, despite his anger, at least he's talking again. I am not completely hopeless._ She tried to clear her throat, but the lump stubbornly refused to move._ Is it warm in here? Maybe it's the dust. Or those blasted scented candles. I should ask him to get me a drink… or would that be rude? Would he think I was treating him as a slave? I'd rather offend him serving myself than asking him to serve me…_ She debated internally about what she should do for several minutes.

Finally, she gritted her teeth and stood. Fenris did not look up as she rose from her seat, nor when she moved to the table to pour a drink. Sullenly, she eyed the puddle of agreggio. _Such a shame._

There was a pitcher of water on the table, but no cups. She looked about and finally spied one, under the table and laying on its side. As she bent to retrieve it, she saw Fenris turn his head to watch her curiously, so she tried to subtly show herself off to best advantage._ …Well, as much as I can, while crawling around to retrieve a dusty tumbler, underneath a table,_ she thought ruefully._  
_

With some effort, Hawke got it and stood, blowing dust out of the cup, then inspecting it for any overly large bits of dirt, or spiders. As she poured herself a drink, she was acutely aware of Fenris watching her still. She sipped at the water, her mind a jumble of emotions and thoughts. After a few moments, realized she had drained the water in one go.

_Fantastic. Now he thinks you not only rude and uncouth, but also a camel._ She sighed and refilled her cup before returning to her seat, refusing to meet Fenris's eye.

When she finally ventured a glance in his direction, Fenris looked at her, approvingly, then turned his gaze back to the fire._ Guess I did the right thing. Except for loudly chugging water like a gaping sewer grate in a thunderstorm. _She snorted to herself, then took another sip of water before turning her attention back to him.

"You've been on the run for a long time, then?" she asked, hoping to resume their conversation.

"Three years now," he said, without looking away from the flames. "Danarius has a way of finding me… perhaps it is the markings." He sounded unsure, the inflection on the last word making it into somewhat of a question. "Whatever the means, it never takes him long to find me," he growled quietly, his hand curling into a fist again.

Hawke found herself staring at his hand. He wasn't wearing his gauntlets, and the lines snaking down out of the wrist of his vambraces led their way to his fingertips. He had the long, elegant fingers that most elves seemed to have._ Didn't Isabela say something about men with long fingers…_

She suddenly jerked her head to the side, staring intently at the logs in the fireplace. They shifted, sending out a shower of sparks.

"This is the first time I've given him reason to pause," continued Fenris, unaware of her distraction. "I suppose there are advantages in numbers."

He said it noncommittally, but Hawke turned back to him and encouraged, "Indeed. There are many." Fenris didn't seem to hear her, or didn't wish to respond, so she continued more hesitantly. "Haven't... you sought help before?"

"Hirelings, when I could steal the coin. Never anyone of substance… until you." He looked at her then, and it was like when he first looked at her the night they met. Hawke felt as though his gaze punched right through her, to her very core, like a mental extension of his lyrium-enhanced talents.

_What did Isabela call it? Fisting talent? _However, her distracting thoughts about _that_ skill fled quickly under his intense stare.

Fenris did not seem to read her thoughts, though, as he was focused on his own. "Danarius will not give up, however. I will await his return."

She nodded as he gravely held her eyes. When he finally broke eye contact with her, he stood, moving to stare out of the moonlit windows as if expecting Danarius to come clambering in through one of the high, narrow slits at any moment. Hawke found she needed the respite, taking a few slow breaths, feeling a bit dazed. Rarely had she ever felt so scrutinized under anyone's gaze.

As someone who grew up trying to blend in, trying to not stick out and keep to the periphery, she was adept at having people's eyes slide right over her. Her family had depended on it. Her propensity to be in places she did not belong, doing things she should not be doing, had depended on it. John had seen her, but no more had come of it until she had planted herself firmly in front of him. She had also depended on stealth in King Cailan's army, had honed it during the few weeks of training that culminated with the rout at Ostagar.

_With Fenris though… his eyes pin me down, tear away my cover, strip me bare. He's like... a hungry wolf in the night, and I'm a juicy, unsuspecting hare, unable to flee._

Thinking of a hunt, she thought back to his surety that Danarius would return, feeling disturbed. _Why should the magister flee all the way back to Minrathous now if he still intends to reclaim Fenris? Maybe Danarius has given up after three years, after coming all this way only to fail and have dozens of men killed in the process._

Hawke turned in her seat towards Fenris, her brow furrowed from questioning. "Maybe he has given up. Or if he hasn't yet, what if he does?" she asked. "You won't let sleeping dogs lie?"

He did not look away from his vigil out the window. "No. I am no fool. If he does not come for me, then I go to him. I will not live with a wolf at my back."

She stiffened, taken aback when he referred to Danarius as a wolf when she had just been thinking of Fenris himself the same way. As she mulled over his words, she covertly studied his lyrium markings, wondering at the pain of receiving such extensive branding at the hands of the ruthless magister. The smuggler in her estimated and calculated the worth of the lyrium in his skin, though she kept getting distracted when she tried to imagine what the markings on his torso, back and legs looked like.

Finally, she gave up with a heavy sighed. "Sounds like a tough situation."

Fenris looked at her again and just smirked. "I am not made of glass." Hawke chuckled appreciatively at that and toasted him with her cup of water.

He left the window to throw a few more logs onto the dying fire before stirring the coals. Then he leaned against the mantle and stared into the fireplace. They fell back into silence for a time as the new logs caught and the roaring of flames filled the room.

Hawke began to feel warm, and it wasn't long before she started to feel drowsy, too. She tried to stifle a yawn behind her hand, but could not.

A moment later, Fenris yawned, too. Then he stretched, arching his back and pulling his shoulders down as he loosened his neck. After returning to his easy standing posture, he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

Hawke tried not to openly gawk at the display, deciding to put her mouth to better use before it utterly gave her away. "So... Maybe it's just me, but it sounds like you want to stick around," she said instead of making another bold remark.

Fenris turned to sit back down on the other bench, perching languidly on the end nearest her. She couldn't help but smile at him over the rim of her cup before she took a long sip of water, suddenly needing to wet her traitorously dry mouth.

Regarding her with an almost predatory gaze, he finally replied, "I could see myself staying — for the right reasons."

Nearly choking, she barely managed to force down the last swallow of water without spilling, spluttering, or dropping the entire cup._ Breathe… be calm. You are Isabela, you are smooth, you are Isabela, you are smooth_, she chanted to herself in her head as she composed herself.

Fenris abruptly looked down for a moment, then looked back up at her, more softly this time. "I should thank you again for helping me against the hunters."

Hawke, who was trying hard to match his earlier gaze with a sultry and alluring one of her own, was momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change in him.

"Oh. it was nothing," she stammered before she recovered. "My... _pleasure_, really." She said it in her best bedroom voice, pausing a heartbeat before letting the word 'pleasure' roll off her tongue. Despite her facade, her stomach was flopping about like a nug rolled in a rug.

Fenris's eyebrows moved up just a fraction at her tone, but his voice was more telling. "Had I known Anso would find me a woman so… capable," he said in a deceptively conversational tone, "I might have asked him to look sooner." The look he gave her then set her stomach-nug to full on flopping and squealing.

But, she gave him a sly smile, responding in a smooth voice, "Maybe _I_ should be thanking Anso."

Fenris returned her sly smile with one of his own. "Maybe you should," he said teasingly as he stood and took the empty cup from her.

As he returned it to the table, she stood too, taking a deep, calming breath before making her excuses and apologizing for staying until such a late hour.

_I need to leave now before I throw myself onto his bed, or choke myself to death on water. What time is it anyway? I've been here for hours! Maker, it will be midnight before I make it back home. What will Bethany and Mother think?_

Graciously accepting her apologies and letting their evening draw to a close, he saw her to the door. Ruff stretched and yawned as he saw them approach, then positioned himself to stand by Hawke.

Fenris turned to face her, his hand on the doorknob. She could barely make him out in the dim light but she froze like a startled hare under his piercing gaze, feeling it though she could not see it just the same. "Perhaps I'll practice my flattery for your next visit?" he said. "With any luck, I'll become better at it." His inflection on the last word made it almost into an entreaty, and Hawke felt an odd warmth flood her chest.

She nodded, smiling coyly. "I'd... like that." They stood in the dark foyer for a few silent moments before she heard the door click, and the brightness of the moonlit night flooded the hall.

"I will see you and the others at The Hanged Man, tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes. You know the way?"

"I do."

Fenris seemed to glow in the moonlight again, the lines of lyrium particularly bright against the backdrop of his black clothing. His white hair shone and his green eyes glittered despite the darkness.

"Fenris?"

"Yes, Hawke?"

"You might want to get some torches for the foyer, and the great hall. I can't have you stubbing those toes," she teased.

Fenris looked down at his feet and she followed his gaze, laughing when he wiggled his toes. He chuckled too, then looked up at her.

"Or I can find some more slavers for you to kill," he pointed out wryly, "and wait for you to bring the torches as a reward."

Hawke laughed again and she stepped out into the night.

"Goodnight, Fenris."

"Goodnight, Hawke."

* * *

**11 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon, continued**

Everything went rather well with my visit to Fenris's. I wound up staying until rather late, but I managed to make it home before Gamlen, anyway. I'm surprised, as The Blooming Rose usually kicks him out well before now, most nights — they prefer their patrons have coin, and Madam Lusine frowns on… extended browsing.

Bethany seems remarkably recovered. Judging from the way she was waiting up for me when I came in, all smirking and expectant, I suspect that I have been had. I must remember to scold Varric for teaching my little sister how to spin stories like this.

And buy both of them a drink.


	12. Complicated

**A/N:** Time to throw Hawke and Fenris right into the thick of things. Brooding ahead! Don't blame me, blame Bioware. :)

And thanks again for the alerts and reviews. It does wonders for keeping up my momentum, even as the chapters start to get longer.

* * *

Fenris strode through the Lowtown Marketplace, taking in the stalls, merchants and browsing peasants with a dispassionate glance. His eyes scanned the buildings, searching. Finally, he caught a glimpse of a stuffed mannequin hanging by one ankle, as it blew sideways into view in the slight breeze.

_This must be the place_, he thought as he mounted the steps and peered up at The Hanged Man's unusual signage. _What a strange name for a tavern._

He opened the door and stepped inside. His keen eyes adjusted quickly to the dim tavern interior. He swept a critical gaze around the room, unconsciously quirking an eyebrow at the unique scents, shabby decor and questionable patrons of Hawke's usual haunt.

"Fenris!" a voice called from across the room.

Fenris's eyes slid to the speaker, who was beckoning him from a brightly lit hallway at the back of the tavern. Hawke sat on the top step of a stairway, in a shaft of light, smiling and waving at him.

He stalked across the room, ignoring the stares and loudly whispered comments, as the bar regulars took note of his appearance. He was used to the sort of attention he attracted when out in public, which is why he usually avoided going out unnecessarily. Now, he had agreed to work with Hawke, and it seemed like the woman would put him to good use.

He could bear the weight of scrutiny if it served a purpose.

He found himself smiling wryly at Hawke as he drew closer to her. She beamed at him as she stood, practically bouncing with energy. _She must have rested well,_ he mused, _despite leaving my mansion at such a late hour_.

"Good morning, Fenris. You are looking well," she said brightly, looking him up and down.

"Hawke." He nodded his head in greeting. He felt refreshed and cleansed after their conversation yesterday. _And after having a much-needed bath._ He still smelled faintly of the soap Hawke had given him.

She gestured toward the door behind her, which was slightly ajar. He could hear murmured conversation coming from the room within, but even his ears could not make out the words.

"This is Varric's suite," she said. She added in a low whisper, "We often use it when we are discussing sensitive business matters." She winked at him.

He regarded her coolly. "I see."

She led him over to the door. "Come in, and make yourself comfortable." She pushed the door open with one hand and stood aside to let him enter first.

He hesitated, eying the layout of the suite.

"Hold still, Sunshine. You keep moving," Varric was saying.

"Sorry," replied a feminine voice.

_No other visible exit. Very high windows. No dark corners or alcoves for concealment. One chair facing the door, occupied by the dwarf, Varric. Dark-haired girl whose profile looks much like Hawke; likely Bethany. No sign of that scruffy, blond mage. Good._

Fenris suddenly felt a hand pressing lightly on his back, between his shoulder blades. He stiffened as he whirled to face Hawke, who froze in the middle of ushering him in.

She'd been murmuring, "It's alright, Fenris. You remember Var…" But she shrank back against the door frame and froze, letting her hand drop numbly to her side.

Fenris heard a low snarl and glanced down, expecting to see Ruff defending his mistress. Seeing no sign of the mabari, he realized the growl had come from himself.

He looked up and met Hawke's startled eyes._ I'm looming over her, growling like some feral beast. Charming._

He straightened and gritted his teeth, scowling.

"I-I'm sorry," Hawke said in a rushed whisper. "I shouldn't have…"

He held up a hand to forestall her. "Don't." It was all he could manage, his voice a low growl. He entered the room and stood in front of the fireplace, with his back to everyone.

_It was a mistake to think I could work with others, to allow anyone to get close. I am still more animal than elf, more slave than free. Even after all these years out from Danarius's grip, I lash out at even the friendly touch of a woman. _

He scowled to himself and balled his hand into a fist, watching the plates of his gauntlets flex and bend into a wicked claw.

Hawke slipped into the room, and quietly shut the door. She glanced at Fenris's back before resuming her seat.

She kept her eyes lowered, and poked at her plate of toast, no longer hungry. She slid it over to Bethany, who looked from Hawke to Fenris with concern.

Hawke was fairly certain her sister had not witnessed the incident, seated as she was with her back to the door. Still, she shook her head once in warning. Bethany's brow furrowed, but she let the silence hang, and began picking at the toast.

Hawke ventured a look at Varric, who was still busy sketching a drawing of Bethany. He had recently gotten the idea into his head that he should not only write and publish his own stories, but that he could illustrate them as well. He had been drawing voraciously, of late.

She hoped he had also missed the scene at the door.

Just as Hawke was about to look away from Varric, he suddenly spoke without looking up from his sketch pad.

"Is brooding a sport in Tevinter? Do they hold competitions? Hand out trophies for the best scowls?" he asked, pitching his voice towards where Fenris stood in front of the small hearth.

Fenris turned to look at the dwarf, still scowling. "I'm not 'brooding,'" he said, in an ironically dark tone.

"Moping, then. You seem like you're a champion at it." Varric's pencil never stopped moving.

"I'm perfectly content at the moment," Fenris shot back defensively.

Varric's hand paused as he looked over at Fenris, squinting and tilting his head in an exaggerated manner. "Oh, so that's you smiling? Glad you clarified that. I'd never have known."

Varric looked at Hawke, giving her a quick grin before he returned to his drawing.

Despite her worried mood, Hawke found herself fighting down a chuckle. Bethany laughed openly, and Fenris's shoulders sagged as if he was deflated by the tension leaving the room.

He turned away from the fire and stood a little straighter, though his eyes did not quite meet Hawke's. "I… apologize for my rudeness. Would you do me the honor of introducing me, Hawke?"

_So polite, for someone so fierce. Now I am even more nervous about this... _She licked her lips, and hoped her voice would not fail her.

"Of course, Fenris. Bethany, this is Fenris, whom I told you about." Bethany smiled shyly and inclined her head to Fenris. "Fenris, this is my sister Bethany." Fenris nodded politely to her.

_May as well get this over with now..._ Hawke thought, steeling herself.

"You should probably know that she is an apostate, like our father before her. My family has kept her safe from the Chantry her whole life."

Fenris took a step back, eying Bethany suspiciously.

"Why? Is she a blood mage?" he growled.

Bethany's eyes grew wide with horror. "No, I would never!" she said hurriedly. She looked sick at the mention of blood magic.

Hawke stood and quickly walked around to stand beside her little sister, putting a protective arm around her. She glared at Fenris.

"I think you will find that, unlike Tevinter, most mages outside the Imperium have more than a healthy fear of making deals with demons," she said sharply.

Fenris gave her a scathingly skeptical look.

She continued, undaunted, though she tried to keep her tone non-confrontational. "Our Father was taught by the Circle before he escaped his imprisonment. He trained Bethany with the utmost care, so that she could live in freedom, unfettered by the Chantry. I would think you, of all people, could appreciate that."

If he was at all affected by what she said, it did not show on his face. Still, after a moment, his defensive posture changed into a merely wary stance.

He stared at Bethany for a long moment, then gave Hawke another piercing look. She stood straighter as she felt his eyes penetrating her again, chin held high. She met his gaze with one as fierce and protective as a mother hawk protecting her young.

Finally, Fenris looked away, tugging at his gauntlets. "Very well," he said in a flat voice.

Hawke tried not sag with relief. She gave Bethany a slight squeeze, before reluctantly moving back to her seat.

Fenris paced the width of Varric's suite, once again lost in his own thoughts.

She grabbed a pitcher of wine and poured herself a cup, desiring a little more liquid fortification, despite the early hour. Fenris looked over at the sound of liquid splashing, then marched over, sitting stiffly in the seat across from Hawke, to Bethany's right.

He poured himself a cup of wine. As he raised it to his lips, he paused, then tipped it in salute, first to Bethany and then Hawke.

"To the Hawke sisters," he toasted. "May you always remain as… capable as you appear," he added dryly, before taking a long swallow.

Hawke pursed her lips at his wry toast, but tipped her cup, too, and took a drink.

He grimaced when he lowered his cup, peering first into it, then at the wine pitcher.

She saw him eying it, and she smirked. "Please don't throw it against the wall," she teased. "It might be cheap, but Varric bought it for me. And I doubt he'd appreciate you… redecorating his suite."

"Why not? It tastes like watered-down paint," he said, cringing as he sniffed at it. "Seems more suitable for the walls."

"We don't all have fine wine cellars at our disposal, Fenris. Some of us have to make do," she replied airily.

"I take it you intentionally order this, then?" he asked with disbelief as he pushed the cup away from himself.

"Yes, well, the sort of wines served here tend to get you more smashed than the ale. I have a very strict rule about getting drunk only on special occasions, so this 'watery paint' is the safest route."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"They have goat's milk but… I don't recommend it," Bethany said quietly with a shudder.

Fenris looked at her, then chuckled. "I see. Well, perhaps I will bring a case or two of wine from Danarius's cellars, and leave it here with Varric." He looked at the dwarf, who merely shrugged to indicate he didn't care either way.

Hawke's mouth watered at the thought of having some of the Agreggio Pavali, though she knew Fenris would likely bring ordinary table wine. _Still, it would be nice to have something a little more refined around._

"Nobody really drinks wine except me," Hawke admitted reluctantly. "Isabela loves her whiskey, and everyone else prefers ale. Except Bethany."

"I don't drink," Bethany explained, looking embarrassed. "It goes straight to my head. The first and last time, I nearly set our brother Carver on fire and turned Marian into an icicle." She shrugged weakly. "It seemed like a funny prank at the time…"

Fenris looked aghast, so Hawke quickly gave a careless laugh. "It was my fault for giving her the idea. Both Carver and I were just as drunk, and we goaded her into settling a bet between us. Which I would have won," she added pointedly, "if Carver hadn't gone crying back to Mother about his missing eyebrows, and gotten us all into trouble for drinking in the first place." She shook her head ruefully, then fell silent.

Fenris noticed that Bethany looked upset. When he glanced at Hawke, he saw that she, too, had a grieved expression on her face.

She glanced up, seeing his questioning expression. "We lost Carver to an ogre when we fled Lothering," she explained softly. "He was trying to protect our mother. We killed the damn thing, but it was too late." She reached over and patted Bethany's hand. "He was Bethany's twin."

Fenris's heart tightened once he understood the stricken look on Bethany's face, and he didn't know how to respond. _Imagine having a twin, having someone to grow up with, who was more like you even than your other siblings, or your parents. You would never be alone. To lose one such as that…_

"I am sorry for your loss," he said finally.

Bethany gave him weak smile. "It was over a year ago, now. It's fine."

But he could see the unshed tears shining in the corners of her eyes. His heart twisted uncomfortably in his chest, and a small, cruel part of him sneered at himself for pitying a mage. _Still, she is practically a girl, and seemingly a harmless one at that. And she _is_ Hawke's sister…_

He looked to Hawke then, who stared at nothing with a distant half-smile of remembrance on her face. He decided to change the subject before things got weepy.

"So, Marian, is it?"

Hawke started out of her reverie. "Hmm?"

"Marian…?" he said again, meaningfully. _Why is she blushing like that?_

Hawke's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Oh, you mean my name," she said a little breathlessly.

Fenris nodded. He noticed Bethany grinning at the two of them, and wondered at it, before he was distracted by Hawke cursing colorfully.

"Andraste's pert little ass, here I've been introducing you to everyone and I never properly told you my full name," she muttered.

She took a deep breath before she fixed him with a winning smile, and said gregariously, "Marian Hawke, at your service, messere." Hawke circled one hand in a flourish as she gave Fenris a seated bow.

Fenris chuckled, both at her creative cursing, and that she would play the inferior to his status. _Which of us ranks lower, a refugee or a fugitive?_

He was searching for something witty and flattering to say in response when the door suddenly flew open, and Anders strode in confidently.

The tune he was whistling cut off abruptly when he saw Fenris and Hawke grinning at each other, and he narrowed his eyes. "Ah. I see our new _friend_ is here."

He shut the door behind him with a bang, then rounded the table. He eyed his usual seat across from Hawke, which Fenris was inadvertently occupying.

Anders's eyes shifted to Bethany, and he smiled at her broadly. "Hello, Sunshine," he said with a sappy sweetness in his voice, borrowing Varric's nickname for Bethany. "I'm so glad to see that Fenris hasn't killed you outright, for your own good," he gushed in a light tone, as he threw an arm around her and hugged her sideways in camaraderie.

"We filthy apostates must stick together," he added, as he smirked triumphantly at Fenris. Then he looked to Hawke. "I _assume_ you've told him?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he expected she had done no such thing.

"We have already discussed it, yes," Hawke said warily.

Anders looked crestfallen to have his moment stolen from him, but he recovered quickly. "So here we all are..." He glared at Fenris.

"Um, Anders?" Bethany's voice was muffled.

"Yes, my dear Bethany?" he replied without looking down.

"You're hurting me."

He backed away from Bethany, hastily releasing her, and she rubbed at her shoulder. "It's… nice to see you, too, Anders," she said, flustered, and wincing a little.

Fenris frowned at Bethany's discomfort, narrowing his eyes at Anders. Anders put his hands on his hips, eying Fenris in return.

They stared at each other menacingly, like a dog and a cat facing off against one another before tangling in a flurry of bared teeth and claws.

Varric looked up and noticed the two of them posturing. Excitedly, he turned to a fresh sheet of paper before hurriedly beginning a new sketch, holding a thumb up and squinting at the scene with one eye, before furiously scratching away with his pencil.

Hawke tsked loudly and rolled her eyes. "Gentlemen, please," she said loudly, "now that we are all here, perhaps we can get down to business?"

Anders glared at Fenris once more. Hawke was half-certain he was about to stick his tongue out at the elf, but he just turned and sagged into an armchair on the far side of the room.

"We have a slight… templar problem," she began hesitantly, glancing at Anders. He indeed sat up in his seat. "Varric has heard rumors of templars actively hunting someone in the Alienage."

She stood and began to pace. The room was silent, save for Varric's incessant scribbling, and the crackling of the small fire.

"The Alienage is not very far from where Bethany and I live." She stopped behind her chair and gripped the back, as she looked at Fenris meaningfully. "We also have another friend, Merrill, whom you have not met yet, Fenris. She is Dalish, so lives in the Alienage. She is… also a mage."

She hesitantly let the information hang in the silence for a moment.

Fenris's hands tightened where they lay on the table, but he did not speak out. _Maker, does this woman go _out of her way_ to collect apostates?_

Hawke hurried on as she saw Fenris's jaw tighten. "The plan is this. First, we go find out what the templars are looking for. Second, we 'help them,'" she crooked her fingers in the air, "along their righteous way before they begin tearing the place apart, brick by brick. Third, profit."

Varric cackled greedily at that.

She looked at Bethany and said softly, "Bethany, I want you to stay here in Varric's room while we are out, just in case. If something should go amiss, the first place they'll look is Gamlen's."

She looked around the room, fixing each person with a meaningful glance. "Our companions, and therefore our livelihoods, depend on this."

Anders cheered, "Huzzah!"

Bethany fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably.

Varric nodded and added, "And our communal money chest will thank us."

Hawke's gaze finally fell on Fenris. Fenris stared her down. She stared back, setting her jaw. Finally, he looked away, and inclined his head a fraction.

Her relief was palpable. _Thank the Maker. I thought he would walk out after all this_.

_Andraste's bloody ashes, what have I gotten myself into with this woman,_ Fenris thought, utterly bewildered.

* * *

**12 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Maker, what a long day. It is probably actually the 13th as I write this, but I am too tired to care.

We helped clear the templars out of the Alienage today. It turns out that they were actually there at the behest of a mage-child's mother. The woman, Arianni, was hoping to hide her half-elf son from the Circle, but the boy's powers began to manifest as nightmares from which he could hardly wake. Once she realized her child was plagued by demons in his sleep, she decided he needed the Circle's help.

The boy ran away when he found out she had contacted the Templars. Lucky for him, a relatively nice templar was appointed to spearhead the search. Ser Thrask has some… interesting history for a templar. It might prove useful to to be in his good graces (and to have some blackmail over him.)

I cannot imagine what the past few weeks must have been like for Arianni and Feynriel, though I certainly know what living in hiding is like.

What chance does a Dalish mother living in the Alienage really have of holding onto her mage-blood son? They could not run from place to place like we did. And what chance does a boy like that stand against demons when he is untrained and lacks the means to seek it? The boy had no training at all, even less coin and no family besides his mother. Bethany had Father to teach her from the start and Mother, Carver and me looking out for her. Feynriel's own father is a rather weasly Antivan merchant who has never acknowledged his bastard son. He refused to talk to me at first. Granted, I probably looked rather terrifying with Fenris glowering at him over my shoulder. I was able to convince him of my sincere desire to help, eventually.

I know Father believed in freedom from the Chantry, and I would rather die than see Bethany taken there… but I honestly believe the lad's mother did the right thing in contacting the Templars. I understand the reasons Feynriel ran, but still… those two are beyond fortunate that he did not come to one of many possible bad ends.

It chills me to think of him as an abomination, loose in the city. As it was, he nearly met a more earthly demise when those to whom his father sent him for help wound up directing him right into the hands of slavers. Damn those would would profit from friendless apostates, and twice-damned those who would turn on them and hand them over into a life of slavery.

You would think that, knowing they dealt with mages, even smugglers and thugs would exercise a little good sense. But no, apparently they feel that should their quarry turn on them with magic or, Maker forbid, turn into an abomination, their whips and cudgels will subdue them like any other poor ordinary wretch they snatch in the night. Thrice-damned fools.

The boy changed hands at least three times. It is a wonder we found him at all. Some wretched ex-templar who "helps" apostates for coin to support his lyrium habit sent him straight to a smuggler captain when he realized the boy was penniless. That greedy bastard smuggler sold the lad to slavers. Big surprise.

My feet ache from running around Kirkwall for half the night.

At least Fenris was pleased to 'extract' the information of Feynriel's whereabouts from a slaver mage named Danzig, whom we found skulking about the Undercity with a number of lackeys. By that point, I had no reservations about letting Fenris work him over with his lyrium talent. Despite Fenris's misgivings about my own intentions regarding Feynriel, he took immense satisfaction in ridding the city of Danzig and his slaver crew. I cannot say their presence will be missed. Their are some definite perks to all this adventuring.

We traveled to the slavers' bolt hole along Wounded Coast as swiftly as we could. Fenris set such a quick pace that Anders and Varric could barely keep up. I shared his sense of urgency, however. Whatever ship the slavers were using was bound to be traveling under the cover of darkness. Unfortunately, Isabela was off with some friend of hers and was not around to give advice on the tides.

Thankfully, we arrived in time and rid the Free Marches of even more Tevinter slavers. I wonder if fighting with Fenris will always be like this, or if he found the slavers particularly inspiring. I barely had a scratch on me when the dust had settled. He took on three or four of them at a time, shouting curses at them in Tevinter and they flew at him like moths to a flame. He was gorgeous, in an angry, deadly, gore-covered sort of way. Normally I would have been more competitive, but I let him have his fun.

The boy was untouched when we finally found him. He was worth a tremendous amount of coin to the slavers so long as he was alive and well, so I took the chance that they wouldn't harm him. It hardly mattered. Fenris flew up the stairs and took out their leader personally, while Varric, Anders and I made short work of the remaining brigands. It is obscene how many men will look the other way and help sell children for coin.

Feynriel was shaken and angry at the risk I took. He reminded me of Carver, lashing out with anger when really he was just scared. He wasn't much happier that his mother had sent us after him. I did my best to explain her reasons, but he refused the Circle as an option. He was trying to get to the Dalish, of all things! He had a valid point though… the Kirkwall Circle is much more harsh than most. There are an unusual number of templars garrisoned in Kirkwall and Knight-Commander Meredith is said to be without mercy or compassion for her charges. The rumors I have heard from Anders about unusually high numbers of Tranquil and failed harrowings have been corroborated by Varric's sources. And The Gallows is a former prison, for Andraste's sake!

Anders was, of course, all for letting him go to the Dalish. I wasn't sure it was even an option, since Feynriel is only half-elven and thus outwardly appears human. Still, Keeper Marethari was friendly enough before, and she owed me somewhat for looking after Merrill. Merrill has also mentioned in our conversations that the Dalish prize their dwindling magical ability.

Fenris was concerned that an abomination among the Dalish would be no less acceptable than one in Kirkwall. He naturally favored the Circle, where the lad would be made Tranquil if he could not master his powers.

Varric did not care either way; sometimes I envy dwarves and their lack of magic.

In the end, I could not in good conscience send the boy to the Circle when there was an alternative. Fenris was… not pleased with me. He did not speak to me the entire way back to Kirkwall. I suppose I can understand — I laid a lot of surprises on him. And it's only his first day.

I should not have touched him this morning. It started the day on a sour note.

I cannot say that I am entirely satisfied with tonight's outcome myself, but decisions in life often do not fit tidily into neat little boxes labeled "smart" or "stupid".

Tomorrow, I will report to the boy's mother, and speak with Ser Thrask. Should he take the news of Feynriel's departure poorly, I have a very interesting letter to use as leverage to keep his mouth shut. Maker willing, he will be satisfied that the boy is being properly trained and watched.

Perhaps I will take Fenris with me to The Gallows when I go speak with Ser Thrask. Maybe seeing the Tevinter prison will remind him that even a prisoner who is locked away because of magic is still a prisoner. I just hope I do not have to admit to him that I know, wholeheartedly, not every mage can live a life free of the Circle like my Father or Bethany. He thinks ill enough of all magic, without me confusing him more.

Damn. This whole mage-templar situation makes my head hurt. I wish I could say to the Void with the whole thing and just spend some time showing Fenris around the city.

I must remember to visit the Dalish soon, too, to make sure the boy has reached them safely, and is being looked after.

But for now, I'm just going to bed.


	13. Messy and Clean

**A/N: **Less serious warning: Long chapter is long. Now that I will be writing some narrative for Fenris too, things are getting lengthy. I promised Fenris fluff, so I feel the only fair thing to do is expand the narrative a bit to explore what he's up to, as well as Hawke. I hope you will agree that it's worth the eyestrain. :)**  
**

**WARNING:** The first section of this chapter contains scenes of abuse. If that sort of thing bothers you, you might wish to skip the first section. I centered it on the page so you can tell where it ends without reading it. I hope it isn't too hard to read centered for those who choose to do so.

I'm sorry to do it, but I have always thought it suspicious how Fenris talks about Hadriana. I am not proposing that her abuse of him went any further than these forceful advances, since I doubt she'd deign to go that far with a slave. I've just always had the feeling that she did more than simply "hound his sleep." It would explain _a lot_. It gets fluffy soon afterward, I promise.

Also, I apologize again for novelizing a bit. It's a good expositional conversation for Fenris... and I have always hated how there is no dialogue option that fully encapsulates how I feel about the Circle. I admit I rather enjoyed having the chance to bridge the gap a bit here. Yay.

* * *

"Don't. Touch. Me," Fenris growled as he took a step backward. Hawke's face was tilted downward, expression hidden in shadow. She reached for him anyway. All he could see was the glimmer of her eyes as she watched him cringe away.

"Touch me?" Her voice sounded different; her accent had changed, the inflection was all wrong, her tone uncharacteristically haughty.

_Her eyes… those robes… _

His thoughts cut off as a feeling of dread stole over him.

"You want me to touch you, Fenris? Is that it?"

The voice was pure evil, her cruel tongue caressing his name in a mockery of affection, and it made his hair stand on end, like velvet rubbed the wrong way.

Fenris could see her eyes now in the dim light. They were icy blue. He put his hands up protectively and whimpered as he tried to vanish into the wall. He could have tried to phase through it with his lyrium talent, but… _I can't, not without Master's permission. She will tell him, and he will get the leash. She'll help him. They'll both… I can't. I can't. I can't._

No, not Hawke after all. Hadriana. Part of Fenris raged, wanting to lash out and claw her face, stave in her head against the wall, rip her chest open, and expose her black heart for all of the fawning magisters to see.

_This bitch takes everything she wants, and believes nothing can stand in her way? I will show these nattering old men just what kind of a viper they let into their parlors, what kind of desire demon they would coax away from Danarius and have for their own. They think they can mold her, shape her, and use her lust for power to bed her, but she has already surpassed them in cruelty. She teases and simpers and plots. She climbs to power on the bodies of those she leaves in her wake. _

_I will cast her down and dance on her bloody bones, and then they will see just how twisted a heart lay beneath those soft breasts. Let them look upon her forked, black tongue and see what treacherous poison lay behind those moist lips. Her long nails are red with blood, and her perfume smells of death. She, above all others save one, will die by my hand. _

"Please…" He cowered and tried to slide down the wall, wishing to curl into a ball.

"Come here, Fenris." Hadriana gripped both of his shoulders with her long, bony fingers and hauled him back up. Her long, red nails bit into his flesh. She leaned against him and thrust her leg between his own, grinding a thigh roughly against his sex. His body stirred, against the desire of his heart.

"No. Please… no." Fenris put his left hand on her shoulder and pushed weakly. _Cast her down! Why do you sound so weak? Speak! Shout at her, growl, snarl! _

"Please… what?" She slid a cold hand up his torso and snaked it into his hair. She yanked hard, and his head whipped back, exposing his neck. She held him like that, pinning him against the wall he desperately wished to sink into.

"Please… mistress?"

Fenris's mind raged at his pathetic whimpering, at calling this girl "mistress" when she was but an apprentice. Danarius would be furious if he knew she had Fenris address her in this fashion, if he knew that she toyed with his pet like this… but then again, Danarius might just laugh and applaud her initiative.

Fenris swallowed hard, eyes darting wildly around the room. He felt Hadriana's other clammy hand clamp down roughly on his right forearm as she forced his hand to cup her breast. Fenris cried out at her touch on his lyrium markings, at the wrongness of her. His shut his eyes as her dry tongue laved its way along the markings at his neck. He burned where she touched him, and he bit his lip trying not to cry out again. Then he squeezed his eyes tighter, holding everything in. She did not like it when he cried.

_Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

"Look at me, Fenris."

Quavering, Fenris reluctantly opened his eyes. Marian's face filled his vision now and she smiled at him. The hand in his hair was no longer pulling and forceful. Her nails softly scratched his scalp and tugged gently, tenderly at his white strands. Her other hand was warm as she ran it lightly up his forearm.

His own hand caressed her soft breast through a thin, silky, white shift. He could almost see all of her through its diaphanous fabric. Her sensuous curves were illuminated from behind, and what he could not see made the sight of her all the more erotic. Fenris found that his left hand, which had been pressed defensively against her shoulder, moved of its own accord now, sliding up her slender throat. She sighed as her eyes slipped shut. He swept his fingers lightly across her lips, up her cheek and across one eyelid, the feel of her thick, fanned eyelashes tickling his fingertips like a whispered promise.

She leaned into him and the heat of her radiated through her filmy garment like the blazing sun. She smelled like soap, the same soap she had given him. He felt himself stiff and aching with need against where her slender thigh was nestled between his own. His fingers finished their journey tracing the soft contours of her face and traveled down her ear and jaw until his hand rested on her shoulder again. His fingers massaged the back of her neck, thumb caressing her creamy throat.

Her eyes were still closed, and she moaned his name softly.

"Fenris… touch me."

Rage suddenly welled up in him, hot and fierce. Before he could stop to think, his lyrium brands burned, blue and searing. He wrung the life from Hawke's neck as his right hand stabbed through her breast and gripped her beating heart. Her eyes went wide with horror, and so did his own.

* * *

Fenris's eyes snapped open. He lay on his side, facing the wall, curled in a tight ball at the head of his lush bed. The sheets were twisted and bunched, pinning him down. He tore them off of himself, then forced his rigid muscles to relax, unfurling his limbs slowly one by one. He rolled onto his back and took a deep breath as he stared at the ceiling. Motes of dust danced and whirled in the shafts of early morning sunlight that pierced the otherwise dark room.

Fenris lay there for a long time, tiredly but carefully packing away old memories like a shopkeep closing up his stall at the end of a long market day. That done, he swept out the lingering feelings of rage, fear, and helplessness, like they were just bits of dust and refuse accumulated from the day's business. Then, he boarded it all up and turned his back to it, though he knew he'd find himself back here, unpacking and repacking, day after day.

His thoughts clear for the time being however, he stood and walked over to one of the narrow windows as he turned his mind to what lie ahead. His green eyes searched the horizon for signs of storms, or high clouds that would bring a change in the weather. All was clear, though he knew it was difficult to predict if rain would come over the peaks of Sundermount, or if a sudden squall would arise on the Waking Sea.

Fenris stalked over to the long table where his washbasin sat. He splashed its cold water on his face, grateful for the refreshing coolness on his sweat-soaked hair and neck. He grabbed the soap, hesitating for only a moment when the smell of it dredged up a whisper of his dream. He washed cursorily, needing only to rinse away the nightmare's sweat. He had lingered in a hot bath the night before, mulling over the events of the long day spent tracking down Feynriel and killing slavers.

Fenris smiled to himself when he thought of the slavers, his lips curling into a predatory expression. Despite what had happened with the boy going to join the Dalish, he found himself satisfied overall with the outcome. He'd had thought long and hard about the lad last night while he soaked and scrubbed away the day's gore. Given a free hand, Fenris admitted to himself that he would probably have put the boy to a merciful death. Feynriel was clearly struggling to control himself already, and, at such a late age, Fenris had serious doubts about his chances, even in the Circle.

_The enchanters might teach him just enough to make the boy even more dangerous before the demons in his sleep claim him. It could be disastrous._

Hawke's solution, though inelegant, overly-optimistic and softhearted, _would_ risk only the Dalish clan camped several miles away. Fenris knew the Dalish had formidable fighters among them; Maker willing, if the lad did fall to a demon, the damage would be minimal. He also knew that if the half-elf child proved to be… difficult, there would probably be at least a few clan members with no qualms about seeing a human suffer a… convenient accident.

Fenris dried his face, neck, and hands, then squeezed his hair dry. He picked up his new comb and a large shard of broken mirror, trying not to look at his face as he combed his hair into a semblance of neatness. He pushed the strands this way and that but it still looked tousled and mopish, so he finally gave up, satisfied once the tangles were all worked out.

He donned his armor and strapped his sword to his back. Tucking his gloves into his belt, he looked around the room, mentally ticking things off in his head. Assured that he had forgotten nothing, he walked all the way to the front door. But just as he pulled the door open, he realized that he didn't know where he was heading. His dream had awoken him just past dawn, so the streets were still empty and silent. He paused.

He had not spoken to Hawke on their way back to Kirkwall last night, as she had looked tired, bedraggled and worried about Bethany. He had also not wanted to argue with her further. She herself had not laid out a plan for today, and he had been too caught up in his own thoughts to ask.

_Will Hawke even be at The Hanged Man this early? I suppose I can sit with Varric until she arrives._

Fenris mulled over his options before he stepped back inside, shutting the door and heading for the wine cellar.

* * *

Hawke awoke early, despite tumbling into bed at a wretchedly late hour. Her dreams had been fitful, full of faceless slavers chasing her, Dalish elves chasing her, templars chasing her, Anders chasing her, Fenris chasing her. She had run around all day yesterday, only to spend the night running in her dreams.

She felt utterly exhausted.

It didn't help that she was still dirty and ripe from her long day before. After she had roused Bethany from Varric's bed, where her sister had dozed despite her mounting fears at their continuing absence well into the night, Hawke had returned home. She had cleaned her armor and written in her journal, but she'd had no energy to bathe herself. Now she awoke with the added crust of night sweats and drool.

_I bet I look like the picture of beauty,_ she thought wryly as she dropped from her bunk.

Bethany and Leandra had already risen; Hawke could hear her mother and Gamlen quarreling quietly in the main room. Hawke sighed and moved to latch the door. She peeled off her clothes and began to wash as thoroughly as she could, using the two buckets of warm water that someone, probably Bethany, had set on top of the small stove that heated their tiny, shared room.

Her stomach began to gurgle and groan incessantly as she bathed, and she had to force herself not to rush, wanting to remove all the grime and muck from the day before so she could start this day fresh. Bodily, if not necessarily mentally.

When she finally finished, she dried quickly and put on a fresh set of clothes, then strapped her armor on. She tucked her gloves into her belt, strapped on her daggers, and looked around the room. Her eyes rested on the helmet she sometimes wore. She hated wearing it as it made her sweat, and her hair looked awful whenever she took it off to speak with anyone. She left it sitting in the corner.

Hawke walked into the small main room, which was the largest in the pitiable shack they shared with her Uncle Gamlen. She kissed her mother on the cheek and brushed past Gamlen before he could start grousing at her about needing money for rent and expenses.

"Be back with breakfast!" she called sweetly over her uncle's whining. He was cursing about his damned luck at the dog track the day before, asking her for some silver to chase a 'sure thing' he'd heard about.

Ignoring him, Hawke stepped out onto the stoop and pulled the door shut behind her. Bethany and Ruff sat on the top step with their backs to her, and Hawke heard her sister chatting with someone who was not visible at the base of the stairs. Though she was concerned, she schooled her face and sauntered over to Bethany to see who the interloper was. She prayed that it was not Ser Thrask or another templar, come sniffing around for Hawke or Feynriel.

Hawke pulled up short when she saw who it was — Fenris.

There he stood, for all the world casually leaning up against the corner of the tall landing that wrapped around Gamlen's house, chatting away with her sister. Her mage sister, who just yesterday he had accused of blood magic. Hawke gaped.

Bethany looked over her shoulder, smiling when she saw her sister's expression. "Good morning, Marian. Look who I found wandering around our little corner of Lowtown," she said teasingly.

Fenris flushed a little and fidgeted. "Yes, well... I didn't know what the plan was for today, so I stopped in to see Varric. He told me where you lived, but all these… houses look nearly the same." He cast a skeptical eye over the rundown neighborhood. "I did not wish to make a spectacle of myself knocking on random doors. Thankfully, Bethany was sitting out here on the stoop and saw me."

He smiled gratefully at Bethany, and she grinned at him. "You're hard to miss, serah," she said with a laugh, and Fenris inclined his head cordially. Hawke raised both eyebrows in astonishment, then shook her head, accepting the Maker's grace for what it was.

"We need to go to the market and buy some breakfast. Looks like Gamlen spent the grocery money on a three-legged dog yesterday. Again," she said to Bethany, but without taking her eyes off Fenris.

He was watching her with intensity, though his expression was rather dispassionate.

"Have you broken your fast yet, Fenris? Will you join us?" Hawke asked.

"Yes… thank you. I have not eaten." He hesitated. "I would... appreciate it if you could show me to the stall where you procured those fruits. They were quite good. And the bread. And the cheese. And the nuts," he added, growing more sheepish with each utterance. He shrugged and gave a wry chuckle. "It was all delicious."

Bethany giggled, and Hawke smiled slyly at him. "I'm glad you liked it all but... you finished it all already? For someone so lithe, you sure like to eat."

Fenris shrugged again, the motion as graceful and effortless as breathing. "You worked up my appetite." Bethany bit off a scandalized gasp and giggled harder, and Hawke raised an eyebrow at him.

He merely smirked at her when she clomped down the stairs in a feigned pique. Bethany followed, gathering up a large, empty basket, falling into step behind with Ruff as the four of them walked to the market.

Once there after the brief walk down the street and around the corner, Bethany split off with Ruff and began filling her basket. Meanwhile, Hawke showed Fenris around the now-bustling market, introducing him to grocers, butchers, cheesemongers, bakers, chandlers, and haberdashers. She charmed them all, letting them know that if they dealt fairly with her friend, she would consider it a personal favor.

Fenris was bemused at how she seemed more like a lady touring her estates than a shrewd bargainer haggling with the least-bedraggled of Lowtown's merchants. She had an eye for low prices, true, but she paid well for good wares, and the tradesfolk loved her for it. She gravitated to stalls with the freshest fruit and vegetables, the most fragrant bread, the best rustic cheeses. For Lowtown, she was a big spender, as she had not only her family but also several companions to provide for. They also knew she was responsible for running off the Carta, holding the Coterie at bay, hauling off random thieves… and she might have let it slip that she knew the incoming Guard Captain _quite_ well. In short, they all knew Hawke was good for business.

The merchants seemed curious about Fenris's appearance and the arrangements Hawke made to have deliveries for him sent to an estate in Hightown. But their questions quickly faded with the clink of coin. Fenris nodded his assent as Hawke ordered produce, meat, bread, candles, torches and toiletries to be delivered at regular intervals directly to his mansion's door.

When she finally completed her whirlwind tour of the market, she turned to him and pressed a heavy coin purse into his hand. He noticed that she was careful not to touch him. He looked in his hand curiously, then at Hawke.

"It's your cut of the money we took off the smugglers and slavers yesterday. Minus your shopping. We didn't have a chance to split it last night, what with all the running around."

Fenris hefted it, hearing the coins clinking together — it was a fair amount. He tied the purse to his belt.

"If you want to shop some more, just let me know. I'll show you to the best stalls. I know just about every peddler from here to Hightown." He tilted his a little quizzically head at her, but she explained without being asked, "Varric did the same for me, so I feel it's only right I pass it along."

Hawke's stomach gurgled just then, a low grumble that rose steadily in pitch before it ended in a high, plaintive squeal. She blushed furiously.

Fenris laughed. "I think we'd better have breakfast. We can browse the shops another time, perhaps." He gestured politely for her to lead the way. They joined up with Bethany, who was sagging beneath the weight of a heavy basket, struggling to hold it up off the ground with both hands.

"Please, allow me." Fenris held out a hand. Bethany looked at it for a moment, then her trembling arms hefted it over to him. Fenris wrapped his hand around the handle, holding the basket aloft easily.

Bethany's jaw dropped a little as she saw him grasping the basket in one hand, arm not wavering in the slightest. Hawke turned and she, too, raised an eyebrow at the display of strength as Fenris lowered the basket easily to his side, where he tested its weight. The muscles in his arm flexed and bulged admirably.

"No wonder you think mages are weak," Bethany muttered in awe. Then she burst out laughing when she realized what she'd said.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Don't get him started."

Fenris gave the sisters an indulgent smile. "I suppose I deserved that."

* * *

Hawke, Fenris, Merrill and Anders rode in silence on the ferry to The Gallows.

_Andraste's sainted ass, damn fool tagalongs… _Hawke cursed to herself. She could not _believe_ that both apostates had decided to come along to The Gallows, of all places, where she had to make her report to Ser Thrask. After they finished breakfast, Bethany had had the good sense to stay home; Hawke hadn't even needed to ask. She wished now the other two mages in her little band had shown equal sense. But that ship had sailed — quite literally.

She looked at first at Anders, who sat facing her with his back to the bow, staring daggers at Fenris. Hawke then looked at Merrill, who hung precariously over the starboard railing of the ferry, trying to touch the water as it skimmed by. Her arms were at least two times too short for the task. Hawke shook her head in exasperation, half-wishing the elven girl would pitch overboard, then regretting the thought immediately. Mostly.

Finally, Hawke looked at Fenris. Or rather his back. He stood near where she sat on a bench, his posture deceptively loose and easy for someone standing on a rocking boat. He was watching curiously as The Gallows grew ever-bigger, his large, green eyes taking in the haunting grandeur of the ancient Tevinter architecture. She noticed that despite his apparent tranquility, his hands were flexing into fists.

_Must remind him a little of home_, she thought wryly, though her hands itched to grasp his, twining her fingers with him reassuringly. She pushed those thoughts abruptly from her mind as she remembered the terrible fury on his face yesterday when she had touched him.

The ferry docked, and Merrill was the first in line waiting for the walkway to be lowered. She danced excitedly, clapping her hands like a child waiting by the schoolhouse door for the Chantry bell to ring signaling the end of lessons. Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

"That one is… odd."

Fenris's voice rumbled low in her ear, sounding very irritated. On the walk from the Alienage, where Merrill had pounced on Hawke while she spoke with Arianni, the Dalish mage had chatted Fenris up, down and sideways about the Dalish, Tevinter, and elves in general. Usually Merrill's ramblings were innocent and harmless, but this time, she haplessly plowed headlong into Fenris's dark past and put his back up as sure as if he'd been an alley-cat and she had doused him with a bucket of cold water. Hawke sighed as they joined the line of patrons exiting the ferry.

"Are you sure it's wise for us to come here? Considering… who we're with?" Fenris spoke low and hesitant in her ear, and Hawke tried desperately not to think about how close he was standing to her. She shuffled forward in line and shrugged, indicating she could not exactly answer him at present.

Once they all stood on the stone landing that led up to the Gallows courtyard, she led Fenris aside. Anders was pulling Merrill away from the templars who stood guarding the wide archway that led up to The Gallows proper. She had been trying to find out what was beneath their skirts. Anders murmured laughingly to her, but he shot the templars menacing glares, and Hawke felt a cold sweat start to break out on her skin.

Anders had shown up just after breakfast with a bouquet of wildflowers. When he saw Fenris, Anders thrust the flowers on the breakfast table and made a grand show of greeting Leandra, asking after her health. Hawke was pleased that his courtship of Bethany was proceeding to the point where he was trying to get into her mother's good graces, but she found his timing to be terrible. He had invited himself along to accompany Hawke on her errands before she hardly even knew what happened.

She shook her head as she watched Anders lead Merrill back over. "Maybe not, but we'll be cautious," she hedged to Fenris in a low voice, with more conviction than she felt. Fenris just fixed her with a leery, flat stare that she had come to recognize as his usual expression of dubiousness.

Hawke clapped her hands. "All right children, up we go," she called casually to Merrill and Anders. Merrill pranced over and stood studiously next to Fenris, looking quite solemn as she glanced up at his profile. Anders flanked Hawke protectively, which Hawke found profoundly ironic.

As they crested the final step to the Gallows courtyard, Fenris looked around in unsettled awe. He walked several steps ahead of the others, taking in the large statues of despondent slaves that passed here for Tevinter adornment. He stared hard at the bronze reliefs ringing the walls which showed hundreds, maybe thousands of slaves bent low to their work in agony. Hawke saw him shiver slightly at the rusty spike motif that still dominated everything as a menacingly sharp reminder of the original purpose of the place, hundreds of years after the Imperium had been ousted. Hawke walked forward to stand by Fenris.

"I've… heard about the Circle of Magi outside of the Imperium, but... I've never been in one."

He sounded a little taken aback._ Good_, Hawke thought soberly.

"This seems more like a prison. I wonder if it's more effective than the Circle I know." The discomfort in his voice gave way to curiosity with alarming speed.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, asking, "How is the Imperial Circle of Magi different?" Merrill and Anders drew close, listening to their conversation.

"Once upon a time, it was as it is here. The Chantry watched the magisters closely for any signs of corruption or weakness," Fenris explained. "Then it changed. The magisters were permitted to watch over their own, and templars kept only to enforce the law. What happened next was inevitable. The magisters rule again, as powerful as they ever were." He finished bitterly, his mouth set in a thin line, like he had just tasted something sour.

Hawke furrowed her brow. "You said the Chantry _used_ to watch the magisters. Why did they stop?"

"You must remember that the attitude towards magic is different in Tevinter. Magisters came from wealthy families, bloodlines that had nurtured magical talent for countless generations. The Chantry was not trying to control poor peasants, but the scions of the greatest houses in the Imperium." He shrugged.

Hawke waved her hands, disbelieving. "Wait. I thought the magisters had been thrown down by the Chantry."

Fenris gave a small smile as if he had expected the question. "On the contrary," he said instructionally, like a scholar teaching a promising young student. "Andraste never defeated the Imperium. Her great army conquered the south, but not the north. The magisters eventually surrendered to the Chantry, but they did so on their terms. They kept their influence." He sighed, and shook his head mournfully. "Thus they reclaimed what they lost over the centuries. Some battles are lost by inches."

Hawke screwed up her face. She was supposed to be showing him that the Circle was oppressive and wrong, and she was being completely trounced. "You talk about the magisters as if they are all evil," she said, a little rankled.

"I have no doubt that some are good and noble men, strong enough to resist temptation," he said to mollify her, though his voice was a little mocking. "But how many temptations do you wish to offer a man before he will give in? Blood magic is everywhere in Tevinter, from the lowliest apprentice up to the Archon himself."

Hawke was astonished. "You can't have seen this for yourself," she said incredulously. "You've seen the Archon performing blood magic yourself, have you?" She crossed her arms.

"Hmph. Danarius talked about it often. Of course they _say_ it's forbidden. Behind the smiles and closed doors, however, it's a different matter." Fenris looked her square in the eye. "To be a magister in Tevinter is to be glorious. To be a powerful magister in Tevinter… that is worth any price."

Hawke remained unconvinced, though she was shaken a bit by the revelation. She left her arms crossed over her chest defensively."You're saying the same thing could happen here," she responded flatly.

He took the bait. "If the mages were permitted to be their own watchers? Of course. It is too easy for a mage to resort to blood magic if they feel the need is great enough."

Anders couldn't keep silent any longer. "As easy as it is to resort to a sword. You were created as a living weapon. Should you not be trusted with your freedom?" The apostate gestured at Fenris with open disgust.

"My powers are not controlled by a demon," Fenris shot back, and Hawke glanced nervously around, well aware that they were conversing right in the middle of the blighted Gallows courtyard, surrounded by templars. Fenris held up a hand and counted off, "A mage can desire power, justice, revenge, protection… any cause will do, and then they are lost."

Anders blanched when he mentioned justice, and went utterly silent. Hawke jumped in, diverting Fenris's attention from him. "You're saying that locking mages up is better?"

Fenris sighed loudly. "All I am saying is the Imperium offers no answers. All that Andraste did long ago to end the tyranny of magic has been undone." He intoned it pedantically, and Hawke was gratified that he didn't want to argue the point.

"She ended the tyranny of magic and replaced it with an entirely new one!" Anders cried angrily, and Hawke groaned that he would have the argument continue.

Fenris sneered at him. "Considering all that magic has done to my homeland and my race, I _weep_ for your predicament." He turned back to Hawke. "Power corrupts, as they say, and mages have power enough already."

All eyes were on Hawke now, the air expectant. They wanted her opinion._ Andraste's shaved upper lip! To the Void with Anders's blighted fat mouth and Fenris's damn pride…_

Finally she said, picking her words carefully, "I suppose… having a Circle is better than the alternative…"

"An alternative I am very familiar with," Fenris jumped in.

Anders threw up his hands. "Alternatives are _so_ wonderful for those who have choices." He positively glowered at Hawke.

Hawke's mouth worked open and shut. "No, I…"

Merrill's voice chimed in, sad and confused. "Herding mages together and putting them under lock and key… it can't be the answer."

Hawke gave a loud groan of frustration and raised her hands to the heavens in entreaty. Several people turned to stare as the large stone square echoed with her fierce "Grrrrrrraaaahhhh!" Fenris, Anders and Merrill all looked at her as if she'd grown a second head.

Hawke held out her hands in resigned pleading. "Look. Treating every mage like a criminal isn't the answer. But this isn't much better either."

"Not every mage deserves the benefit of the doubt," Fenris said simply.

"And I suppose _you_ decide which ones," Anders said to him, bristling.

"Freedom is a noble ideal, but I see no oppression here. I see fear… and danger. But enough. I'm sure we came here for a reason."

Hawke was incensed, furious that her plan had backfired. Fenris leveled her with a cool stare that made her want to punch him square in the jaw, or kiss him for finally ending the conversation that had spiraled so utterly out of her control. She was not sure which would be more satisfying.

She finally just turned on her heel and marched over to Ser Thrask to make her report.

* * *

**13 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Ser Thrask and Arianni were both happy with the outcome of Feynriel's misadventure. I am passing surprised that Ser Thrask took the news of the boy's departure to the Dalish so well. I was reluctant to tell him, but I decided that he needed to know the lad was out of Kirkwall, to prevent the templar searches from continuing.

I made it clear to Ser Thrask that the Templars wouldn't hear about his mage daughter from me, and he made it clear that I would have his gratitude. We understood one another rather well, for a templar and an experienced apostate accomplice. It is good to have at least one templar "on the inside," as Varric would say, who is friendly.

Merrill and Anders tagged along to The Gallows when I went. I took Fenris, as planned, but with Anders and Merrill present, the conversation I had intended to have with Fenris about the plight of mages as prisoners degraded quickly. It was more a cross between a Chantry lesson on the dangers of magic, and Anders's manifesto in spoken-word form. Well, bellowed-word form. Maker preserve us, but I believe He must actually look after fools and children after all, because Anders and Merrill should, by all rights, be somewhere at the very tip-top of the Gallows languishing in cells right now. I was never so glad to climb into a boat as when we finally left there.

Afterward, we helped Isabela out with her 'friend' Martin. I thought he was a little ugly for her to be bedding, with his big swollen nose and that nasty scar across his neck. She claims she never let him "steer her ship," wink-wink, but you would never have known it from the filthy banter she exchanged with him before getting down to business.

It turns out he's a contact of hers who smuggles poisons. Sorry, 'imports' poisons 'legitimately', for 'legitimate' sale to 'legitimate' buyers who 'legitimately' kill people. "It's all legitimate," or so I was told. I doubt Aveline would think so.

Still, it is nice that we now have a contact right here at The Hanged Man for all my nefarious-substance needs. I do like Tomwise, and he makes a mean grenade, but I so _hate_ going to Darktown just to buy some decent deathroot extract.

Isabela was happy to aid her contact, Varric was happy for the coin, Fenris was happy to kill people, and I was happy to do something, ANYTHING that didn't involve templars, mages or blood magic. So the day was not a total loss.

Fenris came by this morning, apparently to see me. Perhaps he was not as angry as I took him to be last night. Neither of us spoke on it. He was very kind to Bethany, which is a surprise, and a relief. I know she is a lovely girl, but Fenris's hatred of magic runs very deep. I would wonder why, but I am honestly afraid to think too long about what abuses he must have suffered as a slave. I will be patient with him, and if I can keep him talking to Bethany (and away from Anders and Merrill), he may yet come around.

* * *

Hawke leaned back in her chair and considered Fenris. He had not once asked to see what she was writing, which was a first for all of her companions, save Aveline. In truth, that is why Hawke had seated herself between the two of them. They were sitting in the common room of the tavern for a change, all of them together for the first time.

Aveline had put in a rare appearance, citing that she would go insane if she didn't have a few ales. Apparently, Seneschal Bran was drilling her mercilessly on the proper way to fill out paperwork and draw up budgets; Hawke could see the dark circles under Aveline's eyes. Now, however, Aveline chatted amiably to Fenris about swords and fighting techniques. They had just called a draw on a lively debate over the usefulness of shields, and now Aveline carried most of the conversation. Aveline's cheeks were slightly reddened, and it was good to see her relax. Hawke was relieved that the guardswoman and Fenris had not clashed; he was reserved and a little wary with Aveline, as he was with all of them, but it seemed he would be openly hostile only to Anders and Merrill. Hawke inwardly thanked the Maker for small favors.

Anders and Bethany were at the far end of the table, and Hawke smiled when she noticed them whispering with their heads together. Anders had not spoken to her much after they left The Gallows, and Hawke was glad that he took a seat at the opposite end of the table from her. He glanced at her occasionally, expression inscrutable, but Hawke pretended not to notice.

Varric, Merrill and Isabela were playing Diamondback, and Isabela was furious that, despite her best efforts to cheat, Merrill kept lucking out to win most of the sets. Isabela was roaring drunk, and flustered enough that she did not notice Varric dealing from the bottom of the deck, slipping cards into and out of his wide sleeves, or even outright swapping cards with Merrill. Merrill did not notice either, her wide eyes fixated on the growing stack of coins in front of her. The elven girl did not have to feign surprise or delight when she turned over yet another unbelievable hand. Varric was heartily enjoying pulling Isabela's chain.

Hawke poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle sitting at Fenris's elbow. He had dropped off two crates of a lovely blended red at Varric's suite before turning up unexpectedly on her doorstep. It was perfect; sweet, mellow and thirst-quenching in a way that Corff's swill could only dream about. She and Fenris were sharing it between them. After Fenris took one look at Aveline's ale, and declared that it looked and smelled like dishwater, he had produced the bottle, as if by magic, from somewhere beneath the table.

When Fenris stopped her from ordering her usual pitcher of paint, and offered to share his wine with her from now on, Varric had griped that Hawke still owed him a peek at her journal now and then. Flush with Fenris's spirit of generosity, she had happily agreed to let Varric peruse it on the first of each month, or thereabouts. She trusted Varric with her life; he wasn't quite like a little brother, but he was a true friend, and she did not feel the need to keep secrets from him any more than she did from Bethany. She also suspected that his shrewd eyes saw far more than he ever let on, and that her life was likely laid bare to him regardless. In truth, it gave her comfort to know that someone cared.

As she contentedly sipped her wine, she looked at their ragtag bunch, and wished that every day could end like this one.

Then she heard Aveline cry, "You're staying where?" in a slightly slurred voice. Fenris held up his hands defensively and Hawke sighed, beginning to explain.


	14. Promises, Promises

**A/N:** This was a hard chapter to write, but it had to be done. Have faith though! At least we get the obligatory "Hawke gets roaring drunk" episode out of the way. :)

And as always, Bioware owns all.. so blame them for making Fenris so broody!

* * *

Fenris pulled open another drawer of the wide, ornate desk. He rummaged through its contents, ignoring the assorted writing implements for which he had no use. He cursed in Arcanum, the Tevinter language, thinking his time wasted yet again.

As he worked a hand down through the clutter, he touched smooth leather instead of a wooden drawer bottom. Fenris paused mid-curse. He felt for the edge of the leather object, but his fingers scrabbled futilely to gain purchase. Fenris impatiently yanked the drawer free, and upended it onto the already-cluttered desktop.

Quills spun to the ground, blocks of wax landed with a soft thunk, and bottles of ink rolled crazily before dropping off the edge of the desk. He shook the drawer hard. Large pieces of blank parchment fluttered out, like startled bats fleeing a cave. Finally, a thin, leather portfolio tumbled free.

The portfolio, which had previously lain flush with the drawer bottom, now lay atop a crooked heap that threatened to spill onto the floor in a cascade of clutter. Fenris carelessly tossed the empty drawer aside, then flipped the portfolio over. A familiar set of ornate runes was burned into the center of the leather flap, and the flap was tied shut with a blood red ribbon. Fenris traced the runes with a finger. He pulled the ribbon loose, then opened the flap.

The portfolio held only a few sheets of rich paper. Fenris slid out the top sheet and turned it right-side up. His eyes slid up and down the enigmatic squiggles contained on the page. He gritted his teeth and focused his attention on the letterhead of the document, which bore a picture of a ship, with an eagle figurehead, in full sail, cresting on blue-ink stylized waves.

He pulled out the other two pages. There were three sheets in all. All bore the same letterhead, though these last two pages were not merely written documents. They had ruled lines and columns; most of the rows were filled with a cramped but neat script. One column held numbers. Fenris could read those, though they were meaningless without their labels or corresponding information.

Fenris shuffled back to the first page as he moved over to a large map of Thedas that hung on the far wall. As best he could tell, Fenris figured this room must have belonged to a steward or secretary, which is why he had left it untouched until now. Fenris had already ransacked the main study and several other richly appointed rooms; rooms which he knew Danarius would have used as his own. They had yielded few clues. Fenris located the pin he had used to mark Kirkwall on the map, then compared the squiggles next to it to the squiggles on the page.

_Yes, this must be it here. _

He looked from map to paper, paper to map, confirming that the words seemed to match up. Then his eyes began to travel along the map's coastline, looking back and forth from map to paper whenever he encountered another set of scribbles, trying to match the city names to one of the inscrutable words on the paper he had found.

He was so engrossed in his activity that he did not hear the metallic clank of footsteps until they sounded on the stairs. Fenris whirled, reaching for his greatsword before he realized he had left it leaning against his bed. Without hesitating, he cast an eye over the cluttered desk; a penknife had fallen tip-first onto the desktop, and it stuck there, leaning slightly. He snatched the small knife as he shrank back into a shadow cast by a nearby bookcase.

A low female voice called out. "Hullo?"

Fenris frowned. _That voice sounds familiar, but from where? _

More clanking. Silence. Now muffled, the intruder's voice called again, likely from Fenris's quarters. "Fenris? It's Guardswoman Aveline. Are you in?"

Upon hearing the name, Fenris recognized the voice of Hawke's red-headed friend, who he had met yesterday. Though Fenris had spoken with Aveline last night, her voice sounded different echoing through his mansion, instead of being raised over the music and noise of the tavern. Fenris lowered the penknife, though he did not put it down.

He heard Aveline's footsteps clinking further into the room next door, so he slipped silently to the door of the steward's office. Fenris flicked his eyes around the dim grand hall. Seeing no one, he stole out of the office and along the short wall that separated the steward's room from the main study. The clanking inside the room stopped, so Fenris carefully peeked into the doorway.

Aveline stood with her back to the door, hands on her hips as she looked around the disheveled room. Fenris recognized her by her hair, which was unmistakably red, and tied into a low tail. She wore the same braided leather band at her brow that she had also worn last night. Her guard uniform looked like any other, save for a kerchief she wore around her neck. Fenris noted that her shield bore the sigil of the Templars, rather than the city seal of Kirkwall.

Fenris tucked the penknife away, and stepped into the doorway.

"I am here, Aveline."

Aveline turned smoothly, no hint of surprise or alarm at his appearance. Fenris had to give the guardswoman credit for her composure. He respected confidence, and in her full plate guard uniform, Aveline exuded it. She looked more like an implacable pillar of solid metal than a woman. Had Fenris been the least bit concerned with running afoul of the law, he might have been intimidated by the sight of her standing in his room. As it was, he leaned nonchalantly against the door frame and looked at her, waiting.

"I came to see for myself where you're… living," Aveline said, without greeting or preamble. She looked at the mess in the room skeptically, but her voice was calm.

Fenris swept one arm out to take in the study, the papers he held rippling with the motion. "Now you have seen it."

Though his tone was as calm and non-confrontational as hers, Aveline's lips pressed into a thin line. "You are known, Fenris." she said.

"What?" Fenris did not take her meaning.

Aveline paced. "I went back through some of Jevan's neglected reports. He was the former Guard Captain. Some of the reports involve you. And requests about you."

Fenris frowned. "By whom?"

Aveline stopped pacing, and she faced Fenris again. "I don't know. Most of them are old, poorly kept. But you should be on your best behavior."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "I will not harm anyone who does not try to harm me first, Aveline. Hawke helped me dispose of the hunters who were after me. I do not intend to seek trouble elsewhere, when I am already hunted."

Aveline gestured at the room. "And I suppose squatting in Hightown will not attract any undue attention, or bring new trouble to your doorstep?" Her brow furrowed.

Fenris shrugged. "As far as I am concerned, this mansion should rightly be occupied by me." A dark, bitter smile curled his lips. "If it helps, you can think of it as being looked after by one of its owner's slaves." He ground out the last words words sardonically.

Aveline waved off his broody irritation. "I already promised Hawke that I'll… try to keep this quiet. With luck, no one will even think twice about it. Nobles are always going on holiday, leaving mansions in the care of servants for a season or two." She gave a weary sigh as she rubbed at her forehead. "Maker, but I should never have had all those ales last night. Hawke talked me into this before I could think about what a mess it is."

Aveline straightened then, and she fixed Fenris with a firm, no-nonsense look. "Just, please... behave. This will be difficult enough without you making a bad name for yourself in Kirkwall."

Fenris regarded her coolly. "I am working with Hawke for now. If you are concerned about what I will be involved with, you may wish to take it up with her. I am just hired help." He shrugged again.

Aveline narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him. "Hawke and her family are dear friends of mine. I _expect_ you to have her back; a mercenary can't be trusted further than you can throw his coin. If I'm going to stick my neck out for you, you have to promise to be loyal to her. Maker knows, she's already quite fond of you." She scowled at him.

Fenris stiffened. "I didn't mean to suggest…" he started, taken aback. He bit off his words when he heard how angry his voice sounded. He held up a hand before facing Aveline squarely, looking her in the eye.

"I owe Hawke a debt of gratitude. You have my word that no harm will come to her or her family if I can help it. As long as I am in Kirkwall, she will have my sword, if she wishes it. I swear it to you."

Aveline's eyes softened, though her posture was still formidable and commanding. "Good," she said, mollified. Aveline began to put on her gloves as she walked toward the door. Fenris stood aside to let her pass, then escorted her to the foyer. As they reached the door, Aveline turned and gave him a look.

"She _is_ fond of you, you know. Even I could see that," she said.

Fenris kept his face impassive. Aveline's expression hardened.

"Hawke rescued me outside of Lothering. She brought me to Kirkwall. She included me with her family when she and Bethany agreed to a year of servitude to get us all into the city. She helped me expose Jevan. Without her, I wouldn't be getting promoted to Guard Captain," Aveline explained, her voice so quiet that Fenris found himself focused intently on her words.

Aveline held his eyes, but he knew she was poking one gauntleted finger into the breastplate of his armor. He felt the slight pressure, and heard the dull tap of metal on metal. Aveline continued, voice still deathly quiet. "She lost someone dear to her in Lothering. She cried every night in the hold of that ship from Gwaren, when she thought we wouldn't hear." Aveline leaned in toward Fenris, her face looming in his vision. He could have counted her freckles, if she had not been pinning his gaze.

"I do not wish to hear her weep like that again. If you tear her heart out, I will do the same to you." Her eyes and her tone relayed not posturing, just brutal honesty, which gave her threat even more weight.

Fenris felt his face harden into a mask as he remembered how his last nightmare had ended, what he had done to Hawke in his dream. His tongue seemed cleaved to the roof of his mouth, so he did not speak. He held Aveline's gaze for a long, intense moment, then gave the barest hint of a nod.

Aveline backed away, breaking eye contact as she retrieved her helmet from where she'd placed it near the door. She set it on her head, giving him a curt nod.

Fenris reached for the door handle, then he noticed he was still holding the papers he had found. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat before he spoke.

"Before you go… tell me, what do you make of this?" he asked her, holding out the papers.

Aveline took them in her gauntleted hands, her brow furrowing beneath her helmet as she shuffled through the pages clumsily.

"It's a receipt for a writ of passage out of Kirkwall. It appears to have been an open ticket, meaning that the bearer of the writ could take ship on any of the fleet's vessels, leaving whenever they wished on the next fleet ship to pull out of port," she explained, squinting at the first paper. "It seems the bearer could also bring up to… ten others with him, and cargo."

Fenris's hand made a fist as he thought of Danarius's tendency to travel with several bodyguards and attendants, so he need not suffer while away from his lavish estates.

Aveline shuffled to the next page. "… and this seems to be a preliminary manifest of the cargo?" she said as she read over the second page. "Clothing trunks; quantity 5. Crates of weaponry; four. Cloth, spices, wine, books, and so on…" she read faster, moving quickly through the list as she realized how mundane it was.

Fenris gritted his teeth as Aveline read off many of the items that he had already discovered, stacked in the mansion's storerooms as if awaiting shipment.

_Danarius always did enjoy bringing back souvenirs whenever he traveled._

Aveline flipped to the final page, skimming the list with her eyes. She paused about halfway down the page, and looked at Fenris.

"What?" he asked finally, when she did not speak.

"This," she said, hesitating, "… is the passenger list." She looked at him.

"And?" he said, voice gravelly and impatient.

"The last name on the list is yours, Fenris," Aveline said. She looked at him, puzzled.

"I see." His voice sounded flat and hard, like a thick sheet of ice. "And what is the first name on the list?" he asked, his voice dangerous.

Aveline glanced down, tracing up the list with a finger. "It's… Danarius."

Fenris saw blue as he slammed his fist into the wall. Chunks of stone and mortar fell away when he yanked it back, leaving a large hole that swirled with dust. He stood hunched, staring at the crater he'd left there, as he fought down his rage.

"Where are the vessels bound? Does it say?" he asked with forced calm.

Aveline chose to ignore the violent display of his lyrium talent. She pulled the first page back to the front of the stack, and studied it. "It… doesn't specify. The bearer of an open writ, like the one referred to here, could likely disembark at any port the fleet called upon," she explained calmly. "The writ itself is not here, but... the letterhead shows this came from the Aquiline Galley Fleet. It would be safe to assume they operate mainly routes to and from the Imperium," she ventured. Aveline lowered the papers.

"Is that what you gathered as well, Fenris?" she asked carefully.

Fenris looked over his shoulder at her, face an impassive mask. "Yes. It is as I thought. Thank you."

He turned, holding a hand out for the papers. Aveline gave them over, her eyes searching Fenris's face.

Fenris opened the door, then inclined his head politely to Aveline. "Guardswoman."

Aveline hesitated, then inclined her head in response. She stepped out into the street.

"Thank you for telling me of those reports about me." Fenris said. Aveline nodded. "And for getting rid of them." Fenris added.

Aveline straightened her helmet, and she tugged once more on her gloves. "I didn't," she said with a grim smile. She turned, and left.

* * *

Hawke scouted ahead, which left Fenris and Bethany walking together on the path to the Bone Pit. Varric covered the rear. They were all leery of running into more of the giant spiders that had started crawling about openly in the warm, wet Bloomingtide weather. Bethany walked close to Fenris, fearful that more of the creatures would attack.

Fenris strained his ears, listening for the soft chittering of insect mandibles, or the scuffling of multitudinous legs. All seemed quiet for the moment. Fenris glanced at Bethany, noticing the look of disquiet on her face. He tried to think of something to say to distract her, and spoke the first thing that came to mind.

"Is the Circle here truly so terrible an option?"

Bethany started, though Fenris could not decide whether it was his sudden question or the topic that unsettled her. "Do you really have to ask that?" she asked in disbelief.

"You would be kept safe from others, as well as yourself, and they would be kept safe from you," he explained gently.

She looked away. "I… didn't ask for this," she said, voice trembling.

That gave Fenris pause. "Nobody asks for their fate," he said finally, though he let the matter drop.

They walked in silence for a time, and Fenris listened for the sounds of ambush. When Bethany spoke, her voice seemed loud in the relative quiet, though she spoke in her normal soft tones.

"Fenris…" She hesitated.

"Yes?" Fenris watched Bethany as they walked.

"If… something should happen…" She looked down as she spoke, fidgeting with one of the rings he knew Hawke had given her. "If the Templars should ever find me… please, make sure Marian doesn't come after me, or that she doesn't… do anything rash?" She looked up at him, her eyes worried.

Fenris's face was passive. "You think she'd attempt a rescue?" he asked.

Bethany nodded. "She's protected me from the Circle my whole life. She doesn't know any other way," she explained. "Sometimes, I think it might not be so bad, you know, being with others like me... not having to hide from the Templars." She looked away, ashamed. "But I can't tell Marian that, not after everything she's given up for me, and Father."

Fenris again felt the stirrings of pity and admiration for this mage. He knew intimately the burdens of being a fugitive. He also thought grimly back to Seheron, when he had let others harbor and aid him… and how it had been _he_ who had brought them their deaths. The weight of that knowledge was hard to bear.

"I don't want to go to the Circle. But if I must…" Bethany sighed in frustration. " Maker, most days, I just wish I was normal."

Fenris found himself nodding with understanding. He looked at the lyrium markings on his arms, the remembered after-echos of the ritual still causing them to sear with phantom pain. Fenris wondered how many times he had wished to be normal.

Bethany continued. "I asked Varric the same thing, but he just told me that I'm worrying too much." She shrugged, then stole a sideways glance at Fenris. "Maybe I am but... She's fond of you, Fenris. She'd listen to you."

Fenris looked away, clenching his jaw.

_Twice I have heard that today. The woman seems fond of everyone, even that Dalish witch and Anders. I am not special. She's beautiful, there is no doubt about that… but I know she only humors me with her flattery. We disagree on the one thing I cannot abide — mages free to do as they please. And what can I possibly offer her? No, I can give her nothing. I have nothing inside me to give._

Bethany stepped in front of him. Fenris looked at her; he had not even realized he'd stopped walking.

"If not for me, then do it for her, Fenris. She deserves a life free of worry. If I am gone, at least she'll finally be free. You can understand that."

Fenris's thoughts flashed back to when he had been a slave, eager to please his master, with no thought for an independent life, or for himself. His whole life had centered on protecting and serving Danarius. There had been little else.

He looked at Bethany, unfamiliar feelings of empathy and concern twisting his heart. "Your sister is a capable woman, Bethany. She will keep you from harm," he reassured her, knowing the words to be true. Bethany's expression fell, worry etching her face. "But if it will set your mind at ease, I swear to you that I will protect her, even from herself, should you be taken to the Circle."

Bethany's face flooded with relief, and she smiled shyly at him. "Thank you. I will rest easier, no matter what happens, knowing that she'll have you watching over her." They resumed walking in a companionable silence.

* * *

The dragon reared on thickly-corded, scaly legs. Sharp talons raked through the air as it lashed out in its desperate last moments of life. Hawke spun under one of the leathery wings and jabbed fiercely at its flank. Fenris raised his greatsword over his head, then swung it mightily down, gashing the beast's long, extended neck.

The dragon gave a loud shriek of pain that stabbed through Fenris's ears. It dazed him. He could see Hawke whirling behind the dragon's back legs, cutting its tendons while it was distracted. Just as she reached to thrust a dagger deep into its thigh, the dragon kicked backward, catching Hawke square in the chest. She fell to the ground, where she lay still.

"I can't heal her," Bethany called desperately, panting. The mage sounded exhausted.

"Elf, go! I'll cover you," Varric yelled, letting off a triple volley of crossbow bolts aimed at the dragon's head and neck.

Fenris charged forward, rushing around the dragon as it grabbed for him with its long front claws. He skimmed easily past the first set of claws, but as he ducked beneath the dragon's outstretched wing, he felt a hot, searing tear rip down his back. Fenris yelled with pain, defiance and sheer adrenaline.

The dragon turned to follow him, its feet stamping precariously close to where Hawke stirred in the dirt. Another hail of bolts punched into the dragon's far side, and the beast screamed, stopping mid-turn to swivel its narrow head around and breathe fire at Varric.

A soothing green glow enveloped Hawke as Fenris neared her. She coughed, struggling to sit up. Fenris swung his sword sideways at the massive tail that was sweeping towards them. The dragon squealed as it flicked its tail up and away from his biting blade. Fenris was forced to crouch as it passed a hand's breadth over them, the gust of its passing making Fenris raise a hand to protect his face from the flying debris it kicked up. Hawke was nearly bowled backward by the fierce wind.

Fenris could see that Bethany was clutching an empty lyrium vial in one hand as she cast a spell. The air around the mage swirled with icy mist, then a thin shell of ice began to crackle over the dragon. It slowed, wings outstretched, and Fenris yelled for Hawke to move.

Hawke was on her feet now, moving toward the dragon's exposed flank. Fenris sped after her, curving around to the front of the beast. He bellowed, and one pale yellow eye fixed on him. The dragon's mouth opened wide, sheets of ice cracking and falling away from its face as it lunged for Fenris, trying to snap him in half between its jaws.

Just as the head came near, Hawke plunged both daggers into a bloody rent in the dragon's side. The dragon's head jerked to the side to see what had pierced its lung. The beast's movements were sluggish, the cold sapping its dying energy. Fenris seized the opening and thrust his greatsword upward, through the soft underside of the dragon's mouth.

It tried to screech, and a jet of flame puffed out the sides of its pinned jaws. It waved its head back and forth. Its legs began to buckle, and its wings began to crumple inward clumsily. Fenris wheeled backwards, his greatsword torn from his grip. He couldn't see Hawke. He called her name, running to the side of the thrashing dragon.

Just as he moved to dive under the dragon to search for her, Hawke rolled out from beneath its collapsing wing. She tried to rise, but could only make it to her hands and knees. She scrambled away, crawling to safety. Fenris moved to shield her, though he had no sword, hoping to distract the dragon if it rose up again.

Blessedly, the dragon collapsed into a heap, stirred for a few moments more, then all was still.

* * *

**14 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

I am drunk. We're celebrating! I killed a dragon today! Well, we killed a dragon today. I think Fenris actually got the deathblow, but I was still stabbing it when it fell. He didn't care who got the credit, so… it probably defaults to me. Yes, I will say it defaults to me.

I took its fangs as a trophy. Gamlen nearly shit himself when I jokingly jabbed one at him. Apparently, a cousin of a neighbor's friend's nephew's hairdresser told him that dragon teeth are coated with a deadly poison that can kill a man in three heartbeats, which is why they were hunted to near-extinction by the Antivans. I don't think it is true, since I carried it all the way back from the Bone Pit, and I feel REALLY good. Plus, everyone knows it was the Nevarrans who hunted dragons — I swear, Uncle Gamlen must have pissed away his education along with Grandfather's fortune.

I also now own a half stake in the Bone Pit mining operations. Bone.. steak… there's a joke there somewhere that I'm too smashed to see. Still, "Bone Pit," eh? Isabela can't stop teasing me about how there's a brothel in Antiva named the same thing. Hah!

I hope Hubert doesn't expect me to handle the payroll, or hire miners, or anything. From the way Varric talks about the Dwarven Merchants Guild, I don't think I'd enjoy an administrative role. I did convince the Fereldens who work there to return, now that all the dragons are dead. They bought me a few drinks! Hopefully an inspection now and then will keep things running smoooothly. I wonder if they make dragonling traps? I should write to Old Barlin, see if he can design one…

Fenris and Bethany seemed to hit it off again today. He didn't mention her magic at all, or even complain when she had to heal a bad gash he took from the dragon's claw swiping him across the back. As skilled a mage as Anders is, I doubt he could have patched up Fenris without one of the two of them saying something rude. Hang on, Isabela brought more brandy.

We killed a dragon! Lots of baby dragons too! Wait, I already wrote about that. Bone Pit. Hah!

Isabela bought me a few bottles o' brandy to celebrate. It's soooo smoooooth. Ibasela sure is generous. Her breasts are sure generous. Hah! Fenris is looking at me funny. I think I am saying things out loud as I write them. "Yes, you are," said Fenris in a warning tone. "What are you doing?" he asked, confused. "I think you should put down your pen, Hawke," he said. It is soooo cute when he looks at me all serious like that. Oops, now he's looking at me funny again. I'm going to stop now, and have some more brandy. I like brandy.

BONE PIT!

* * *

Hawke spent the next few minutes attempting to draw a picture of a dragon. Fenris watched it take form, but could not recognize anything like the towering, scaly creature they had fought that afternoon. Hawke's alcohol-enhanced sense of aesthetic led her to add several smudgy figures around the incomprehensible form of the 'dragon'.

Pointing at one particularly tall smudge with another tall stroke sticking out of it, she pronounced proudly, "That's you!" Her finger moved clumsily to a second figure in the distance with spiky lines around it. "That's Bethany doing her ice… thing." Then she tapped at a small blob near the edge of the page. "That's Varric. He's short."

Hawke snorted indelicately, then began to laugh hysterically, hammering her hand on the table as peals of delighted laughter bubbled up from her chest. Fenris lifted an eyebrow.

He had watched her quickly progress from being pleasantly tipsy, to full-on drunk under the tender ministrations of Isabela. Isabela had convinced Hawke that killing a dragon and owning half a mine was cause for celebration. Then she had plied Hawke with tumbler after tumbler of brandy. Unfortunately, Hawke was not used to strong drink, let alone the sort of spirits The Hanged Man was known for, having always stuck with ordering wine. Hawke was also unaware that Isabela had graciously put the celebration on Hawke's own tab.

Fenris shook his head, the hint of a smile lifting one corner of his lips, as he watched Hawke flopping weakly about, face-down in her journal, trying to catch her breath.

_Why was she speaking aloud while she wrote? And why was she writing down my words? And why, of all things, would she call me _cute_?_

Fenris could tell that Hawke did not often get this drunk. He knew she had been under considerable strain lately — the last few days had been hectic, and Fenris had gathered Hawke had been busy even before he had met her. Fenris supposed he could not begrudge Hawke one night of relaxation.

Hawke finally caught her breath, and wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. She sobered, relatively, then pointed at bizarre set of spirals.

"That's me, being all stabby," she said proudly. Fenris leaned over.

"Yes, that does sort of resemble you," he said drily.

She pointed again at the figure of him. "See how you're protecting me, ready to smash the dragon to bits?" she asked, excited.

"Yes…" Fenris said patiently.

"It should always be like that. We work soooooo good together," she said, drawling the words out fervently. She propped her head in her hands, and leaned toward him amiably, wobbling.

Fenris chuckled. "Nothing has stood in our way so far," he admitted.

Hawke smiled at him lustily then, chewing her lip. Fenris found something interesting on the far side of the room, and he looked away.

Hawke began to list dangerously in her seat. Finally, she folded her arms over her journal, nestling her head down upon her arms. She yawned, loud and long, then she blinked up at Fenris drowsily. Fenris glanced at her, then looked away again, uncomfortable under the intensity of her unguarded gaze. He sipped at his wine, watching Isabela and Varric trying to outdo each other with outrageous stories.

"I was drunk. I thought the reefs around the Wounded Coast were made of candy," shrugged Isabela.

"Oh, come on, Rivaini." Varric waved a hand dismissively.

"And a demon told me to do it. It bet me sixty sovereigns and a bottle of port."

"Very funny."

"You're not the only one here who can bullshit, you know," Isabela groused, tossing back a drink.

"Fenris?" Hawke's voice was soft and sleepy. Without his keen ears, he probably wouldn't have heard her over the noise of the tavern. He hesitantly looked at her.

"Promise me we'll stay together forever," she said, her voice thick with drink and sleepiness. Her eyes slipped closed. "You... and me.. always." Her breathing slowed, and she didn't speak further.

Fenris fidgeted in his seat, now very uncomfortable. He clenched his jaw as he remembered Aveline's warning, his nightmare, the stricken look on Hawke's own face when he couldn't even bear her slightest touch. He thought of Danarius, plotting somewhere on a ship en route to Minrathous. Fenris stared sullenly into his wineglass. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the wine, angry eyes, lyrium tattoos marring his face.

He looked at Hawke, watching her doze, her beautiful, peaceful face turned to him still.

_Three times today, I've been asked to make promises to her. I owe her much, but… which promises can I really keep? She has a future. I have only a past. This… thing between us will not last. I cannot stay here forever, and she will undoubtedly find someone… more suited to her taste. I can keep her safe from others, but can I keep her safe from myself?_

Fenris looked at where his hand lay on the table, repulsive veins of lyrium disfiguring his strong, elegant fingers. Hawke stirred, eyes still closed, and one of her hands reached towards his. Fenris's hand shrank away from hers of its own accord. He made a tight fist and consciously pulled his hand the rest of the way into his lap. Then he drained his wine in one swallow.

"I'll be here if you need me, Hawke." _But you don't. You really don't.  
_

Hawke smiled in her sleep, and murmured something. But Fenris was already gone.

* * *

**A/N: **So, this one time, I got drunk and actually drew Marian's dragon pic... yfrog. com / gzgb2dp (just remove the spaces!)


	15. When It Rains, It Pours

**A/N: **Today, we have fun with two things about Dragon Age that have always made me wonder. 1) What is it like adventuring in the rain, and 2) How do our female heroines cope with certain cyclical occurrences? You may wish to have an umbrella and some chocolate handy...

Bioware owns all, I just made it wet and grumpy.

* * *

**18 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

It has been raining for days. Storm after storm has been pounding Kirkwall since the morning after our celebration (of which I remember little, and which also proved to be VERY expensive for me. Thank you, Isabela.) Fenris, who is surprisingly knowledgeable about these things, explained that the storms come because Kirkwall is pinned between the high peaks of Sundermount to the north and the narrowest channel of the Waking Sea to the south. He says that when it begins to warm, like it does now during early summer, rain is churned up from the sea, then pours onto Kirkwall as the clouds try to rise over the mountains. Maker, it seemed simple when he explained it, but it sure was a chore to write out.

Whatever the reason for the rain, it has left everyone sodden and irritable. All the inns and taverns are filled to the brim with sailors and dock workers who have no employment when the harbor is closed. The rest of us are either confined to our homes or forced to accept getting drenched if we need venture outside. I usually love thunderstorms; I sleep like a baby when it is all thundery and rain is drumming down. And lightning is sort of romantic, when you are indoors with a sound roof overhead. But Gamlen's roof is as holey as his socks, and even I am over this weather by now.

Aveline dragged Fenris and me out for three nights straight to hunt bandits and smugglers on behalf of the Guard, as payment for keeping Fenris's squatting "under wraps." (I'm getting quite good at this adventurer slang.) It was pure drudgery, made all the worse for the driving rain and blustery wind. Aveline keeps saying, "The law doesn't stay home in a storm, and neither does the Guard." Sometimes, I think she is a little too dedicated to her job.

Isabela volunteered to accompany us the first night, citing a desire to see Fenris "all wet and glistening." Her cloak is about as small as the rest of her clothing, however, and once she herself was all wet, she declared that we would have to seek help from one of the others the next night. I will never forget the way she looked, absolutely drenched from head to toe — mostly because her tunic became scandalously transparent. I caught Fenris looking at her, but I can hardly fault him. Isabela has been flirting outrageously with him without any success, so she probably wanted him to get a good ogle anyway. I am surprised Aveline didn't haul her off to the Viscount's Keep and lock her up for public indecency though.

Isabela was right, though. Fenris does look rather fetching all soaking wet, and he _did _glisten… I confess, he looked positively scrumptious with his hair dripping, droplets of water falling from his ears and nose. Rivulets of water flowing down his skin, like those sexy tattoos… and don't get me started about his pants. Maker, if only his pants were any color other than black…

But I am getting distracted. I was distracted then, too, so the next afternoon I spent a small fortune to buy one of the last cloaks in Lowtown for him. As inspirational as he looked, I didn't want to take a sword through the chest from distraction.

Anyway, that first night, we cleaned out a nest of raiders near the Docks who were taking advantage of the harbor closing to ransack cargo warehouses. The second night, we persuaded Varric to help us search Lowtown for a band of thugs who have been menacing folks. They weren't much of a challenge for us experienced adventurers, but Varric refused to go out into the rain again. He was paranoid that it would ruin Bianca's inner workings. He has been oiling and polishing her relentlessly since.

Last night was, by far, the worst. Aveline had caught wind of a group of criminals dressing in stolen guard uniforms, pretending to be members of the Guard while they committed crimes in Hightown. Naturally, she was infuriated, so out into the storm we went. It was just the three of us. I wasn't going to drag Bethany into the cold, wet night — Mother would have killed me. And Anders has been avoiding me since The Gallows. Besides, he and Fenris barely tolerate each other on a bright, sunny afternoon… in this weather, they'd probably be pecking at each other like two cockerels within minutes.

I wasn't going to ask Merrill along, either, since she and Fenris go together about as well as oil and water. But when we got to the Hightown Market, she was wandering around the empty stalls as if she was waiting for us. When we asked her what she was doing there, Merrill said she had wanted to take a walk in the rain but had gotten lost. Maker, that girl has absolutely no sense of direction for one of the Dalish. Aveline lectured her on the dangers of being out in a storm, at night, and alone, let alone all three. Still, I couldn't very well turn around to take her all the way back to the Alienage, so she came with us.

Fenris has been very broody and aloof for the past few days, so the sudden appearance of Merrill only made him more sullen. I wonder if the weather and long nights are getting to him or if other thoughts weigh on his mind. There has been little enough time for us to talk — I would pay him a visit, but I have spent the days sleeping for night duty, and I imagine he does the same. And after last night, I don't think he wishes to speak to me right now…

We found the Shallowguard, as they called themselves, skulking about in small groups throughout Hightown. Aveline grew more troubled with each group we found. She will have her work cut out for her, discovering who supplied them with that many stolen uniforms. Towards the end of the night, we finally found a note on one of them that mentioned the location of their base. I told Aveline that she might want to bring her own guardsman to bust the ring, but she was afraid it would take too long to gather them and the Shallowguard would flee when so many of their own did not report back at the end of the night. So, in we went, just the four of us.

It was a decidedly pitched battle, and I was glad to have both Fenris and Aveline there. Aveline is very skilled with her sword, and her shield is quite handy for me to duck behind when things get… iffy. Fenris was, as always, like a force of nature. When he sweeps his weapon, men fall like so much grain before a scythe. He is powerful, beautiful, and terrible all at once… not unlike a thunderstorm, really.

Unfortunately, Merrill was overwhelmed by several guards during the heated fight and she used blood magic. Fenris was incensed. If not for the leader of the Shallowguard attempting to cut him in half just then, I think Fenris would have struck Merrill down, right there. After the fight ended, I had to shield Merrill bodily to prevent him from doing her harm. I don't know what he meant to do, but the look in his eyes… I've seen what he is capable of and I know his disposition towards blood magic. Merrill has meddled with dark forces better left alone and it frustrates me to no end that she is willfully ignorant of the dangers, but killing the girl is hardly the answer.

I tried to calm him, and of course, Merrill tried to explain (which didn't help at all, as she is too naive by half on the dangers of blood magic.) Fenris would have none of it, however, and we exchanged a few sharp words. He finally stormed off, growling to himself in what I suppose was Arcanum.

I wish I could say that I followed him and tried to make things right, but… even I have become irritable of late. I hate having wet feet, and trying to sleep during the day leaves me tired and grumpy. So I let him leave, and when Merrill started to babble on about him being as silly as her clan, I… may have unfairly taken out some of my frustration on her. She looked like a kicked puppy by the time I got ahold of myself, and Aveline just gave me one of her looks. At least helping the Guard means she isn't too cross with me.

I will need to apologize to both Merrill and Fenris. If this rain ever stops, or if either of them will even see me. Aveline will be launching a full investigation into the Shallowguard, so she will not be needing us to go out into the city at night for the time being.

Hopefully the rain will stop soon and everyone can dry out, then mend fences. Maker knows, with Anders, Fenris, and Merrill all displeased with me, I certainly have my own share of mending to do.

* * *

Hawke set her quill down then leaned back in her chair, raising her hands to rub tiredly at her face. She gave a deep sigh before glancing up at the high windows of Varric's suite. The evening sky was growing darker, thick grey clouds still hanging oppressively over the city. Head slumping forward in defeat, she gave a pitiful groan.

"You know," responded Varric, "I never thought I'd say this, but I almost wish I was in Orzammar. It never rains there." He sat at the end of the table, still meticulously oiling his crossbow. "Bianca is going to rust if this keeps up much longer."

"My mind is going to rust if this keeps up much longer," Hawke muttered. Varric gave a short, humorless chuckle, which was more than she could manage by half. Glancing at the two wine crates stacked in a corner, she briefly entertained the thought of having a cup of wine. But then Hawke's thoughts turned to Fenris and she found her craving suddenly diminished. She looked down at her journal again.

"Gamlen's roof leaks, you know. That's why I left my journal here, after that first night. To keep it dry," she explained. "Every bucket in the house is shoved under the worst leaks, but there are so many. Bethany and Mother spend all day mopping. The sound of sloshing and dripping is starting to drive me mad."

"At least it gave me a chance to finally catch up on your journal. You've been busy, Hawke." Varric held up one of Bianca's gears as he spoke, peering at it and inspecting for signs of rust before fixing Hawke with a smug look.

She sighed and waved a hand in dismissal. "Yes, yes, all right… you were right. Keeping a journal _has_ proven to be 'cathartic' after all," she said with resignation, crooking her fingers sarcastically around Varric's chosen word.

The dwarf chuckled warmly. "Just trying to help, Hawke."

The door banged open, flooding the suite with the loud, raucous din of the jam-packed tavern beyond. Anders stood in the doorway, rain water streaming off a beat up but well-oiled cloak. Despite his protection from the elements, the mage's boots and the hem of his robes were muddy, and his hair was plastered to his head.

"Andraste's pink-striped knickers, but this weather is miserable," he said as a greeting. He took off his cloak and held it out into the hallway, giving it a good shake before hanging it on the peg by door. Varric eyed Anders muddy boots, and Anders followed his gaze.

"Blast... sorry," he apologized, taking off the offending boots. Those he held out into the hallway too, knocking them together to one side of Varric's doorway, letting the crusting mud fall into a disused corner of the dirty hall. Then he walked over to Varric's small hearth, toes poking out of rather holey socks, setting his boots to one side to dry.

Anders made a strange gesture with one hand and the heavy door of Varric's suite swung shut. Hawke raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asked, giving her an icy look.

"Nothing," she replied in a high-pitched tone, holding her hands up in a placating gesture.

He sighed, then began to shake out his robes in front of the fire. "I'm sorry, Marian," he said, sound quite tired. "I didn't mean… It's just, the whole walk over here, I couldn't stop thinking about how if mages were free, I could just use a shield to block the rain. The Maker has given us a gift, and the Chantry has twisted it into a curse. It's not right."

Hawke turned away and rolled her eyes sarcastically. "Yes, it's a shame how it only rains on you. How terribly inconvenient for Anders." Anders froze in the motion of squeezing out his ponytail. His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at Hawke.

She continued, unaware of the look on his face. "The rest of us have been dealing with it too, you know," she snapped testily. "At least your clinic in Darktown is too far underground to have a leaky roof. I dare say you've been quite cozy, all holed up down there while the rest of us actually had to _work_ in the rain." She heard the irritation in her voice and knew she was taking out her frustrations on him, but she couldn't stop her herself.

"I see," he replied curtly. "And here I thought you and your pet…" He searched for an appropriate word for a moment, "_... elf_ would prefer it if I _was_ locked away." He turned his back to her and unbound his hair, raking his fingers through its sodden mass with short, angry flicks of the wrist.

Hawke clenched her jaw, biting down hard to keep from saying the myriad rude remarks that came to mind.

"I've got to go squeeze the nug, if you catch my drift," Varric chimed in. "I'll leave you two to work this out." He made his way across the room with a sigh. After pulling the door open, he paused, warning, "But I better not come back and find my room on fire, or Bianca scratched." With that, he pulled the door behind him, leaving Hawke and Anders in a brittle silence.

Hawke looked away from Anders, her fingers drumming irritably on the tabletop. Anders remained silent, back to her as he dried himself in front of the fire.

_It's just this weather. You like Anders, _she reminded herself. _Hopefully, he and Bethany will find companionship with one another. You've seen the way he works tirelessly in his clinic. He's probably been busy with sick people; the damp always brings injury and illness, especially among the poor. He is a good, kind man._ She tried to force her ire down, blaming it on the foul weather. But deep down, she knew she had grown weary of his constant harping on the Chantry and mages.

Hawke screwed up her face in frustration._ Why must everything be about mages and templars with him? Maker knows, if anyone already knows about the Circle and Templars, it's me. Why must he always drag everyone into a debate on the subject, whether they wish to argue with him or not? Fenris wouldn't be half so angry with me if I didn't try to constantly defend Anders and Merrill to him. Andraste's pierced nipples, I don't even fully agree with any of them on half their views, Fenris first among them!_

She fought against her irritation, trying to think of her friends' good qualities — Anders in particular since he stood close at hand. Hawke struggled against herself mentally, trying to imagine what he must have been like before Justice.

She pictured the happy Anders she had glimpsed in the relaxed evenings at The Hanged Man. She imagined _that_ Anders as the _only_ Anders, how he must have been before; carefree, joking, playing with the kitten he had talked about. Hawke thought about how he had escaped the Circle repeatedly, only to wind up a Gray Warden — patrolling the Deep Roads, forced to forgo sunshine, freedom, and his beloved cat. Her anger finally began to fade into pity.

She stilled her tapping fingers and took a long breath. The rain began to fall again in earnest, the clatter of it on the roof nearly as loud as the crowded taproom outside the door.

Finally, Hawke stood, walking around the table to face him. Anders was still glowering into the hearth as he ran his hands over his hair, curls of steam rising from his head as he used magic to dry his blond locks. He looked so tired, pitiful and bedraggled that the last vestiges of her anger drained away.

"I'm sorry, Anders," she said softly. "I never meant that you should be locked away. I was just trying to involve Fenris in a discussion on the Circle and the abuses of power it has led to here, away from the Imperium. I grew flustered and chose my words poorly." She touched his back gently. "Then, as now."

Anders stiffened slightly when he felt her touch, letting his hands fall away from his hair. He closed his eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath. The rain fell harder, tapping noisily against the windows.

"I'm… sorry too," he said finally, looking away and slightly ashamed. Hawke slid her hand to his shoulder, giving him a playful nudge before letting him go. Anders put his hair back into its normal half-tail. "I know I tend to get a bit… weighty when we talk. Sorry for putting all of that on you."

He had such a sad smile on his face that Hawke found herself smiling back and trying to cheer him back up. "You'd be surprised how people just tell me their darkest secrets," she said with a small, self-depricating laugh, shrugging. "I must look trustworthy."

Anders searched her face and both his expression and his voice were surprisingly direct, without any hint of teasing. "You look… something. True, proud; like even if you don't agree with me, you'll be honest." Hawke smiled even more reassuringly at him, but he looked away abruptly, shaking his head. "I just… I know it was a little selfish, telling you about Justice," he continued, turning away from her to face the wall. He wrapped his arms around himself, drawing his shoulders inward as if he was cold.

"I should have kept it to myself, but... I wanted you to know, to have someone to… justify it to." He gave a short, mirthless laugh at his own pun. "I didn't know what would happen," he explained, bowing his head. "I figured a willing host, a friend… it had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse."

"Well, he can't complain about his looks anyway," Hawke teased, taking a step forward and nudging him again playfully, with her shoulder this time. But Anders abruptly brushed past her and retreated to behind Varric's chair as if to hide from her. Her brow furrowed with concern.

Half-turning to face where Hawke still stood bewildered, he said in an almost anguished voice, "No. Don't go there." He stared at the back wall of Varric's suite, not meeting her eyes. "That's not going to end well. I don't want to hurt you."

"Why would you hurt me?" she asked, confused. She tried to see the expression on his face, growing more concerned as she realized he looked half-panicked.

"You saw what I did in the Chantry. I can't control this spirit when I'm around templars. Justice and I have become one, that's who I am now. Maybe a year ago, we could have had…" Anders bit his lip, looking down at his lap for a moment before he spoke again. But before he could find the words to continue, the sound of the rowdy tavern filled the room again. They both turned, expecting to see Varric.

Instead, it was Fenris.

Hawke knew immediately that he had heard. She saw the look of fury on his face and judged that he must have been listening at the door for some time. _Long enough, at any rate._ Even as she marveled at his keen ears, she cursed her own inadequate hearing, the loud rain, his timing, and her own inattention to the fact that the door was open a crack.

Fenris took one forceful step into the room, and she involuntarily took a step back. But his piercing eyes were for Anders, not her. "Did I hear correctly?" he sneered angrily at the mage. "You are an... abomination?" Hawke's own eyes flicked to the crowded room beyond.

Anders rolled his and gestured with frustration at the open door. "Why don't you shout? I don't think everyone heard you."

Fenris took two more steps into the room and slammed the door shut. The taproom sounds cut off abruptly. The rain had slackened as well, so the room seemed suddenly too quiet.

"Do you see yourself as harmless, then? An abomination who would never harm anyone?" Fenris asked, his voice still loud and uncharacteristically high, straining with rage. The questions filled the room like rolling thunder.

Anders shot back, sharp as a crack of lightning. "Like ripping someone's heart out of his chest?"

Fenris growled, voice growing thicker and deeper with disgust, "I did that at the behest of no demon."

"So we agree that it doesn't take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer? Good." Anders snorted softly in derision.

Hawke realized she was standing very still, like a scared rabbit. _I should say something, do something…_ she thought.

"Fenris…" she said, her voice sounding small by comparison. Fenris's eyes snapped to her and he scowled.

"I came to apologize for last night, for leaving you in danger. I wanted to make sure no harm had come to you," he said, voice hard and admonishing. "But now I see you seek danger out willingly." His eyes narrowed at her as he shook his head ruefully, and Hawke swallowed hard. "I told you before, Hawke. You keep dangerous company, and you should think twice before turning your back on ones such as these." He made a disgusted gesture at Anders. "I thought you had better judgment than this."

_He almost sounds angrier with me than with Anders,_ she thought blankly for a moment as his words sank in.

Then Hawke's face went cold before flushing hot, like she had been slapped by an icy palm. She curled both hands into tight fists and drew herself up fully, facing Fenris.

"You didn't seem to think I was stupid when I agreed to help a virtually penniless fugitive slave who lied to me," she spat. Fenris's narrowed eyes widened before blinking in surprise. "You didn't seem to think it stupid when I followed you into a mansion in the middle of the night to hunt down a magister of the Imperium. With only _four_ of us. Including Anders, who _helped_ you, I might add." Hawke thrust a finger in Anders's direction though she did not look at him.

"And you didn't think it stupid when I trusted you to join us. When I welcomed you or talked with you into the night. Maker, I introduced you to my _apostate_ _sister_ and trusted you not to kill her on sight! I thought you could judge good from evil, having seen _so_ much of it in the Imperium." Hawke raged and she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself.

Fenris stood as if rooted to the floor now, hands hanging limply at his sides. His face was an unreadable mask that seemed hardened in place, which only made her rage more, trying to get a reaction, any reaction, from him.

Hawke stalked over to him, standing close enough to slap him if she had a mind to. She looked up into his hard, inscrutable green eyes.

"Anders helped me, and he's never complained. Merrill, too. But I've had you breathing down my neck about the company I keep from the _very minute_ I stepped out of Danarius's mansion, still covered in the foul ichor of the demons he left lying in wait _for you_," she said harshly, poking her finger at his chest, nail tapping against his metal breastplate.

Fenris just stared down at her breathing slow, deep breaths that she could feel stirring her hair as she looked up at him. He smelled like fresh rain, grass, and soap. Hawke narrowed her eyes at him, pushing her finger harder against his chest, trying to make him move, react, to do anything but just stand there.

"Maybe I am stupid, but if so, it's not for trusting Bethany, or Merrill, or even Anders. At least they _understand_ me," she said bitterly, fighting back a traitorous catch in her voice that made her sound wounded. She shoved down her hurt as she pushed Fenris's chest hard with the flat of her hand. He didn't move, not even an inch, so she pulled back to shove again, harder this time.

But Fenris caught her wrist. The movement was so quick, she didn't even see it coming. It startled her, both for its speed and its unexpectedness. Hawke stepped back, surprised, and tried to jerk her arm free. But Fenris held her firmly, barely even shifting his balance. He did not hold her tightly or painfully — it was like her wrist was encircled by a perfectly-sized manacle of warm flesh and bone.

His jaw clenched tightly, Fenris looked down at her. Hawke stared up at him, trying to keep her face defiant. But she was taken aback when she noticed his eyes, which finally flickered with emotion; anger, yes, but also doubt, confusion, and hurt. Her heart began to race as anger left her and she realized how close they were, that he was touching her.

Having poured out all her hurt and anger on him, Hawke suddenly wanted to reach up with her free hand and brush the hair out of his eyes, caress his cheek, and kiss away the hurtful words she had spoken to him. She relaxed her arm, not struggling against him further. She moved to lay her hand on his chest again.

"Let her go," Anders said, voice laced with pure danger.

Fenris's head whipped to Anders, expression angry, then growing confused. He looked back down at Hawke, at her hand held between them, his own hand that held her. He released her as suddenly as he had caught her, nearly stumbling as he quickly stepped back.

"I'm... sorry, Fenris," she apologized quietly. She rubbed at her wrist absentmindedly, feeling the absence of his firm, warm touch. Fenris looked at her, glancing away when she touched her wrist and balling his hands into fists where they hung at his sides. He gritted his teeth and looked down.

"I need to go," he said finally, then stalked out of the room. As he flung the door open he nearly bowled over Varric, who was carrying four flagons of ale.

"Hey, where are you going in such a hurry, elf?" Varric struggled not to spill the ales as Fenris stepped around him hastily. "Don't you want to stay, maybe play some Wicked Grace? I bought drinks!" he called to Fenris's back. There was no reply.

Varric turned and shrugged, bustling in through the door before kicking it shut with one booted foot. "Guess not." He noticed Hawke standing there, staring at the floor, troubled. He raised his eyebrows but walked over to Anders instead, who was still standing behind Varric's own chair.

"What did you do, Blondie?" he asked with a sigh. Anders just shook his head. "Or was this our broody elf's fault?" Anders nodded. He moved out of Varric's way to take his usual seat across from Hawke's.

"Ahh." Varric gave Hawke's back a sympathetic look after he had set down the ales. "He'll be back, Hawke," he reassured her kindly. "This weather, it's making everyone broody. Which means he's just a little… extra-broody. He'll be fine. You'll see."

Hawke nodded mutely. She walked over to her chair, then slumped down in it.

"Sorry, Marian," said Anders. "If I had known he was eavesdropping, I would never have brought up Justice."

Hawke waved his apology away with a tired gesture. "He was bound to find out sooner or later, Anders. It's… not your fault." She tried to sound as if she meant it.

Varric nearly choked on the ale he was sipping. "Oh, shit! I bet that didn't go over too well." He slid one of the other ales to Anders.

Hawke smiled weakly, one fingernail worrying at a scratch in the tabletop. "About as well as you'd imagine, yes."

Anders lifted his mug to his lips, but laughed into it before drinking as he said, "You should have heard our Marian tell him off. It was perfect." He took a long, satisfied swig.

Hawke grimaced and Varric looked at her, eyebrows shooting up. "Really? Do tell."

She fidgeted, sliding lower into her seat. "I'd rather not..."

Anders set his mug down with a thunk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "He questioned her judgment in choosing her companions, so she reminded him of his own unique circumstances that brought him into the fold. It was brutal, especially for our sweet Marian, here." He cocked his head at her, considering her for a moment.

"Come to think on it, Marian," he continued conversationally, "you nearly ripped my head off when I came in, too. Is it nearly your moon-time or something?"

Hawke felt her cheeks begin to flush. "Wha…?" she blurted, just as Varric choked on his ale again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Blondie. What the hell, can't this wait until I'm too drunk to remember it?"

Anders looked at both of them with incredulity. "What? I'm a healer. And an adult male with a healthy respect for a woman's wrath. Unlike _some_ people." He inclined his head sardonically toward the door.

"Neither gives you any right to ask something so impertinent," Hawke replied with a sniff.

Anders turned to Varric to give a curt nod. "That's a yes, then."

Varric winced, turning away, hands waving madly. "This is why I like Bianca; crossbows don't have these… issues. I don't need to know this," he said to Anders. Turning to Hawke, he repeated, "Hawke, I really don't need to know this." Then he stuck his fingers in his ears, screwed his eyes shut and began singing a bawdy song to himself about a dancing mule and the Viscount's mistress. Hawke found herself laughing at Varric's antics despite herself.

Anders gave her a smirk. "That's more like it. I'm just teasing you. But I _am_ a healer. Some people might not think of you as a woman…"

Varric cut him off, speaking loudly, fingers still in his ears. "What's that, Anders? You want to play cards now? Sure, sounds great." He eyed the mage to make sure his lips were pressed together before producing a deck of cards. Anders remained quiet as Varric began to shuffle. "You two ladies done gossiping and knitting? If so, get your purses out and prepare to lose."

Hawke clucked her tongue at Varric, shaking her head, but she smiled as she produced her coin purse. She began picking out bits and pieces, but her smile soon faded as her mind whirled with thoughts of Fenris — whether he would return, or disappear altogether, and if he stayed, how she could make things right.

_Maybe I should have Anders draw up a healer's note, excusing my mental state… no, best not to mention either that **or** Anders. I guess I'll just have to go apologize in person, once he's had a chance to cool his head._

* * *

Fenris lingered outside the front door of The Hanged Man staring down at his feet. He stood in a mud puddle, a depression worn into the stone by thousands of patrons' feet over the years which had filled in with dirt. He felt the mud squishing between his toes, cold and gritty with sand.

He realized he had left his cloak on a peg just inside the tavern door, but he had no intention of going back in to retrieve it. He had already stood there for a few minutes, so was soaked with rain. He also didn't think he could bear the full volume of the jovial voices of drunkards, nor cheery tavern music again. _No, the cold of the rain and mud suits my mood well enough._

His brow furrowed in consternation. _Did I call her stupid? I wouldn't call her stupid. I don't remember saying that, but I was angry. Perhaps… no, I would never. But, she sounded so hurt. What **did** I say? _

Fenris looked down at his hand, the one that had grabbed Hawke's wrist. _I... hurt her. I shouldn't have grabbed her like… some kind of animal. I didn't even realize I had done it. I just wanted her to stop saying those things. I… She must think I am a monster, or a fool. Probably both._

He hunched his shoulders and began to walk back towards Hightown, sloshing barefoot through the wide streams of rainwater that were flowing openly down the center of the streets, where the stones were worn down from the traffic of centuries.

_She's right. I have given her few reasons to trust me. Even Anders… _His mind went blank as he fought down revulsion and rage upon thinking of the man being an abomination. Pushing the hot anger away after a few moments, Fenris tried to regain his train of thought.

_Even... he... has remained steadfast. As much as I hate his whining about mages and freedom, he has never questioned Hawke's judgment. The way he looks at her… The way she spoke of his appearance..._ Fenris stopped in his tracks, limbs feeling suddenly rigid. 

_I'm jealous_, he realized. _Jealous of a mage, of an abomination. _He shook his head disgustedly, hands balling tightly again. Suddenly, he wanted to hit something. Very badly.

A noise came from a nearby alleyway, and Fenris slowly turned his head. He spied two ruffians creeping down a nearby dark alley, towards him. Knives flashed in their hands.

"Come on out," he called to them, voice deceptively calm. "I could use a distraction." Lightning flashed and he could see their eyes going wide as he took a step in their direction. Much to his's disappointment, they turned and ran. As he watched them flee, Fenris realized he didn't even have his sword. He rolled his eyes, smiling grimly to himself.

_She will be the death of me one of these days. _

He resumed his walk, turning Hawke's words over in his mind. _What did she call me? A 'virtually penniless fugitive slave who lied to her'? Hmph, I cannot fault her for accuracy, I suppose. _He hunched down further as the wind began to blow the rain sideways, directly into his face.

_She has trusted me with much. And she is right, I have been throwing it back in her face since the beginning. The others, Aveline, Varric, Isabela... they have all accepted me. And I more or less trust them. But the mages? I suspected Bethany at first, but she has proven to be utterly guileless — she is even... friendly towards me. As for the other two… well, perhaps it should be enough that Hawke trusts them. _

As he picked his way up the winding steps from Lowtown to Hightown, Fenris struggled to believe as Hawke did, that Merrill and Anders would not prove to be a danger. But by the time he reached the Hightown market, he still could not do it, not even for a moment.

_If I truly believe they are a threat, I should be with her, to protect her when, not if, they do turn. Instead, I am like an injured dog, snapping at the hand outstretched to tend my wounds. Or maybe I am more a wolf, untameable, and rightly to be run off into the night._ He thought of Hawke's hand then, pushing him away. How he had grabbed her wrist. How close she had been.

_How long has it been since I last touched anyone, except to hurt them? Her skin was soft. __ I probably terrified her. _ I could feel her pulse racing. Fenris felt ashamed to think it was he who made her feel that. _Brave, sarcastic and sometimes fool-hardy Hawke, who never seems terrified of anything. She has faced down a dragon with me, and it is me that she fears more._

He stalked through Hightown, passing the Viscount's Keep and turning towards the Chantry. '_I thought you could judge good from evil,' she said. I've seen plenty of evil — it is easy for me to recognize… _

_But good? _He searched his fragmented memory for goodness, decency, kindness. _Maybe before the ritual, but… precious little of it since. Who has ever shown me kindness? The Fog Warriors, I suppose… _He walked past the Chantry, trudged up the last flight of steps, and turned toward his own mansion's door.

There was a basket of groceries sitting on his doorstep under an oiled canvas. A bunch of carrots poked out from one side, and Fenris could smell the scent of freshly baked bread with his sensitive nose. He stopped in his tracks.

_And Hawke, of course. Always Hawke. When has she ever spoken harshly to me without me speaking in anger first?  
_

Fenris's shoulders slumped as he walked to the door, bending to retrieve the basket. He pushed the door open and entered his brightly lit foyer, torches burning warmly in their sconces. The sound of water dripping echoed from somewhere within the house, the mansion otherwise quiet. And he felt suddenly very wet, cold, and alone.

He carried the basket into the great hall, heading for his room. As he sat it on the table within, he removed the canvas and draped it over one of the benches to dry by the fire. Then he stripped off his sodden clothing and left it to dry, too, before moving back to the table, ignoring the chill on his bare flesh.

Fenris soon warmed and felt a small smile quirk the corner of his mouth as he looked over the basket's contents. Inside, he saw all the fine things Hawke had ordered on his behalf. It was the second such basket to be delivered, and it held everything he needed for the next week. Simple fare, but hardy — and more than he'd ever had the luxury of having before.

_Maybe I am too broken, and can see only corruption at every turn. _Even as he deflated with a sigh, Fenris's stomach gurgled, and he found the appetite to fill himself up again. _But I know she, at least, is good, kind and decent, in her own way. Until I can better judge goodness for myself, maybe I should trust her more to see it for me. _He picked up a small apple and rubbed his thumb across it, smile deepening.

_Hawke has been in rare form, of late. My brooding must be... rubbing off on her._

Unconcerned about his nakedness, since his room's windows faced an interior courtyard, Fenris walked over to them and peered out at the night as he bit into his apple. He leaned against the stone, gazing and chewing thoughtfully.

"Too bad I can't write her a note," he muttered to himself wryly. "It would be so much easier to apologize in writing. She is as… formidable in an argument as she is on the battlefield." He paused before taking another bite, thinking back to the Bone Pit. "Maybe more."

Fenris continued to eat the apple, core and all, until he was left holding just the stem. He knew he should have discarded the core, but as a slave and a fugitive both he had had to waste nothing, and old habits died hard. He dropped it carelessly to the floor, then judged the clouds with a studious eye.

"At least this rain should end by morning." Then he turned and began to draw himself a hot, soothing bath.


	16. Surprises

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for the reviews/alerts/favorites. I love seeing them fill up my inbox. It is so inspiring, you have no idea. Thank you :)

This is the biggest chapter yet. We have a lot to get through today, so let's get to it! All belongs to Bioware, and I fully blame them for this long string of quests.

* * *

"I know why you're tagging along, Varric. You're nosy." The dwarf walking on Hawke's right laughed. "But Bethany, are you sure you don't want to go back home, or wait at The Hanged Man? There are usually a lot more templars in Hightown than elsewhere in Kirkwall. I appreciate your support, but I can handle this. I'm not that bad at apologizing, am I?"

"You could be better at it sometimes, but it's Fenris I'm worried about. I just don't think you should have to face him alone, in case he's still… upset. I want to do this," Bethany urged. "I'll be fine. I'm not going to start juggling fireballs, or turn some noble's lap dog into ice." Her voice barely wavered as she looked around the busy marketplace and spotted two templars chatting nearby. "It'll all be fine," she repeated.

"If he's even still there…" Hawke muttered. "Maker, I almost hope he isn't. What am I going to say?" She lead Varric and Bethany in a wide arc around the outside edge of the market, away from the templars.

"You want me to make something up?" Varric offered. "I can tell him you slipped in the mud, hit your head, and were delirious. Or that your uncle was struck by lightning, and you were mad with grief."

Hawke snorted. "Don't I wish. But unfortunately, Fenris has met Gamlen. He would never buy my being 'mad with grief' over him, not even from you."

Varric shrugged. "I'm all out of ideas, then. Broody elves aren't really my target audience."

"I think Fenris owes you as much of an apology as you owe him, sister. I can understand him being angry about Anders, but he shouldn't have taken it out on you," Bethany said.

"Maybe. We'll just have to see how it goes. I'll think of something. Maker, I hate high drama. I much prefer comedies," Hawke said with an ironically dramatic sigh.

The trio wove through the streets of Hightown, making their way toward the Chantry.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop in and say 'Hi' to Bartrand?" Hawke teased Varric as they neared the intersection that led toward the Dwarven Merchants Guild. Varric snorted his reply and kept walking.

"You don't seem to like your brother very much," Bethany observed.

Varric gave a mirthless laugh. "And here I thought it took blood magic to read minds."

Bethany laughed nervously. She looked down as a templar walked by, briskly going in the opposite direction. They all walked quietly for a few moments before she said, "Carver used to nail my braid to the bed while I was sleeping." Hawke snickered, and Varric chuckled.

"Maker, he used to be vile to you. Remember when he drew an extra eye on your forehead while you slept, and the ink didn't wash off for days? My ears are still ringing from how loud you shrieked." Hawke clutched at her side as she laughed.

"Yes, how could I forget?" Bethany's smile faded a little. "I never thought I'd miss him this much." Hawke's laughter died abruptly, and her face took on a blank, impassive look.

Varric glanced at them both. "Sorry about your brother," he said. The silence persisted, so he offered, "Hey… you want mine?"

Bethany giggled a little, and Hawke's lips drew up into a small smile. "Nooo thanks," she drawled.

Varric gave a defeated shrug. "Well, it was worth a shot."

As they entered the Chantry square, Hawke and Varric were careful to flank Bethany protectively. Templars, clerics, nobles and the devout all meandered through the square, and up and down the Chantry steps. Hawke angled their group towards the far side of the square, to Fenris's corner of Hightown.

Suddenly, all heads began to turn towards the direction of the Chantry steps. A small crowd was gathering around the Chanter's Board, and Hawke could discern raised voices from the center of the ring of people.

"…my duty to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide," a man's voice said angrily in a thick accent. He began to stalk away, the crowd parting before him with whispered murmurs. Hawke could see him now; even from this distance, she found him vaguely familiar. He carried himself proudly, and he wore several pieces of gleaming white armor.

The sound of tearing parchment echoed through the stone archways that ringed the square. "This is murder," said an aged woman's voice, brusque with disapproval. Hawke gaped when she saw who the woman was. The Grand Cleric herself stood at the center of the murmuring crowd, holding a notice that the man must have posted there on the Chanter's Board.

The white-armored man turned around at the sound of ripping paper, snatching the bow at his back. Grand Cleric Elthina was still waving the notice emphatically at him. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver, knocked it, aimed and loosed, all in one smooth, swift motion.

A brightly-fletched arrow appeared suddenly on the Chanter's Board, just above and behind Grand Cleric Elthina's hand. The notice was snatched from of her by the passing arrow, and it was once again pinned back to the board. The Grand Cleric stood motionless, and there was a look of surprise and disbelief on her face.

"No. What happened to my family was murder," the man said in a heavy brogue.

As the man spoke, Hawke took the opportunity to get a better look at him. Her heart clenched, and she realized with a start why she found him so familiar.

He was well-tanned, and his eyes were unmistakably bright blue, the blue of sunlight piercing the deep, churning waters of the sea. His face was handsome, with a proud nose, strong jawline, and a very generous mouth. His hair was brown, wavy and thick, and it was just long enough that it curled upward at the nape of his neck. He was quite fit, his arms toned, broad through the shoulders and chest, but with a narrow waist and hips. Though he held a longbow in his hands, Hawke could easily picture him in the middle of a field, holding a hoe, or a pitchfork, or a scythe.

_Maker, but for the color of his eyes,_ _he could have been a brother to John, Andraste preserve him.  
_

Hawke's chest ached as she looked upon him, his features cruelly similar to those of her first love's. Bethany saw the similarity as well, and she gripped Hawke's arm, gasping softly in surprise.

The man turned on his heel, resuming his march out of the square. His expensive white armor hugged his body beautifully, setting off his tan skin and stunning eyes, while it accentuated his proud features and enhanced his natural athletic build. Hawke couldn't help but run her eyes over him, along with most of the other women in the square.

_Andraste's grace, is that… Andraste's face on his belt? _

Hawke didn't know whether to be amused or appalled. The man glanced at her, briefly, as he passed by where their group stood. She felt a shiver run through her, as though she had seen a ghost. She had no opportunity to study him or his armor further, however, for the man's eyes slid blankly over her, and he continued to walk away.

The Grand Cleric was shaking her head reproachfully at the man's retreating back, but she did not attempt to remove the parchment again. She stared after him for a long moment, ignoring the questioning stares of the crowd. Finally, she gave a tired smile and raised her hand in benediction, then climbed back up the long Chantry steps.

"Shhh, don't be jealous, Bianca," Varric cooed as he reached over one shoulder to pet the stock of his crossbow. "What you lack in range, you make up for in power."

Hawke, grateful for the distraction, raised an incredulous eyebrow at Varric. "Feeling threatened, are we?"

"Bianca gets jealous of longbows sometimes. I keep telling her she's the only one for me, but she's a sensitive girl."

Hawke rolled her eyes, then began pushing her way toward the Chanter's Board as the crowd dispersed. Varric and Bethany followed close behind.

Hawke read over the notice, then tore it free, handing it to Varric. Varric looked it over, reading it twice before he gave a low whistle.

"If this doesn't make us some coin, then I'll eat my hat," he said.

"But you don't wear a hat," Bethany protested.

Varric rolled up the parchment before handing it to Hawke, who tucked it away. "The Prince of Starkhaven will no doubt compensate us handsomely for killing whoever murdered his whole family. We should jump on this, Hawke."

"Prince of Starkhaven?" Bethany asked, eyes going wide. Then she looked at Hawke, concerned. "Marian, he looked an awful lot like Jo…"

Hawke interrupted Bethany as she spied a group of templars coming down the Chantry steps. "We'll look into this later. Right now, let's go see Fenris so I can apologize. I can handle only so much drama at one time. First things first."

* * *

Fenris swung his sword slowly, in a high, one-handed arc using his off-hand. One foot was forward, and he leaned into it, gracefully stretching towards his target. He was a good distance from it, but it was well within the reach of his long arms and even longer sword. The tip of the greatsword pushed across headless neck of the dressing dummy, and it wobbled slightly on its stand.

Fenris had dragged it into the great hall to practice on. It wore one of the robes Danarius had been forced to leave behind in his hasty retreat; Fenris had found the mannequin quite motivational, dressed thus. He smiled darkly, imagining blood pouring from Danarius's rent jugular.

Fenris turned his wrist, bringing his other arm up to clasp the greatsword's grip as he slowly rotated the blade up and around for an overhand attack. He crouched lower to the ground as he did so, presenting a smaller target, compensating as he exposed his chest in preparation for the mighty blow.

He surged toward the dummy, springing forward and up as the blade began to arc downward. Just as he rose up to face the mannequin squarely, within its reach if had it been armed with a one-hand sword or a spell, the blade cleaved through where its head would have been. Were it an actual opponent, its hands would have already been lifeless, and its spells or weapons no threat whatsoever. And that was assuming Fenris's first stroke hadn't already cut it down entirely.

_I could easily shift to one side or the other, and kill a second opponent with the overhand blow, as long as he stood within a foot or two of the first to fall,_ Fenris thought. He nodded to himself, and practiced the move several more times, angling the overhand blows to the left and right of the dummy. He sped up the motions, working up to full speed, then he pushed himself even harder, faster.

He flew back and forth now, pretending there were opponents in front and behind. The front door opened. Fenris heard the hinges squeak in protest, and the sound of voices filled the entryway ahead. He immediately recognized Varric's deep rasping chuckle and Bethany's soft, low murmuring. Fenris did not pause in his training, since he could identify his visitors, and found he was glad of the distraction. It made the drills more challenging.

He swept out an arm, turned, clasped, crouched, lunged forward. Now behind. Forward again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of Bethany and Varric standing in the doorway, watching. He heard the front door click shut.

Fenris turned, his back to them now, and lunged away at imaginary opponents behind him. Sweep. Turn. Grasp. Crouch. Lunge. He whirled, hair whipping out, beads of sweat flung off as he faced the target again. Hawke was there now, standing in front of the other two. Fenris almost faltered, but he planted his feet firmly and completed a last fierce attack on the dressing dummy. He swept, and the dummy reeled. It had barely stopped rocking when he brought his sword down, and brutally embedded the vertical edge of his blade deep into its neck.

A puff of sawdust rose up, and Fenris backed away from the irritating particles, yanking his sword free. The dummy tipped over and landed stiffly, clattering against the stone floor. Varric and Bethany erupted into applause. Fenris waved his free hand in front of his face, clearing the dust away. The two of them walked forward and crowded around him, while Hawke sauntered over more slowly.

"That was amazing," Bethany said, breathless. "How do you move so fast? It all looked so effortless."

"You won't be able to use those moves on dwarves, but I pity anyone much taller than me," Varric said. He hauled the dummy upright and looked up at its ripped neck. "That looks like it'd sodding hurt."

Fenris pushed the hair out of his eyes, and did not respond to their comments. He glanced at Hawke, unable to bring himself to look at her face. All he saw were her hips swaying as she moved toward him, footsteps quieter than the others, despite her heavier laced leather boots. Fenris clenched his jaw and gripped the handle of his greatsword tighter as Hawke approached. He forced himself to look at her face, as he tried to keep the many conflicting emotions he felt off his own.

"Fenris, can we talk?" she asked. She looked uneasy, and tired, like she had gotten little sleep. Fenris nodded, once. "Alone?" she asked Varric and Bethany, though it was more a statement than a request.

"We'll be out here if you need us," Varric said, glancing at Fenris, before he guided Bethany away, towards some overturned chairs that were a little less wrecked than the rest of the room's furniture.

Fenris turned wordlessly and walked up the staircase, towards his room. Hawke followed silently, and Fenris felt acutely aware of her presence behind him. His shoulder blades itched, and he fought the urge to turn and face her again, right there on the landing.

_If she is going to tell me that my services are no longer needed, I would rather get it over with. No, I must apologize to her. That will go easier away from prying eyes. If she has already made her decision, so be it, but I will not allow her to leave, thinking me some kind of half-tamed animal. I refuse to let Danarius win by proving myself to be less than a man. Or less than that… Anders. Faugh, at least she did not come here on his arm._

Fenris entered his large room, and stalked directly over the windows. He still held his sword as he leaned against the wall, planting its tip at his feet. He looked out of the window as Hawke made her way across the room to sit on a bench, back to the fireplace. She did not look at Fenris, merely down at her boots.

She did not speak. He tried to think of something to say, a good beginning. Fenris knew what he wanted to say, and had thought it over all night. It was a suitable and appropriate apology, without admitting any fault for his feelings on Anders or Merrill. But faced with Hawke now, his words seemed inadequate and lacking, so he struggled for something more appropriate. The silence stretched.

"Fenris… I'm…"

"Hawke, you…"

They both spoke suddenly, at the same time. Hawke gave a small laugh, and Fenris gritted his teeth as his new, impromptu apology slipped from his mind.

"Go ahead," he said.

Hawke stood, and began to pace. "I'm sorry for keeping the… information about Merrill and Anders from you. They weren't really my secrets to tell, but I should have at least warned you. I just couldn't think of a good way to say it, and I didn't want you to leave," she said.

"Hawke, I…"

"And I'm sorry for the things I said last night. I was tired, and cross with everyone from the rain, and I know that's no excuse, but I am sorry that I took it out on you." she added in a rush, cutting him off. She had stopped pacing, and faced him, but she still looked at the floor, her hands fidgeting.

"I didn't mean it. Well some of it I guess I did, but I didn't have to say it like that, or in front of Anders. Damn him," she cursed, looking to the side. Then she looked at Fenris, her eyes narrowed.

"Both of you act like horses' asses when you're around each other," she said. "I know why he can't control himself, because Justice makes him a little…" she left off, rolling her eyes and making a circling motion next to her ear with one finger.

Fenris gave her a puzzled look. "A little what? Dizzy?"

Hawke laughed, and smiled at him. "No. Crazy. Do they not use that gesture up north, in Tevinter?" Fenris shook his head, half in wonder at Hawke's abrupt changes in mood.

As if on cue, Hawke sobered suddenly, and said, "I understand if you don't want to work with us anymore. I know when I asked you, that first night, if you'd have a problem with my companions, I left out a lot of key information about the mages you'd have to work with." She sighed, then straightened, looking him in the eye. "I accept full responsibility for my actions; just, please, don't turn them in to the Templars. Anders, Merrill, Bethany…" she paused, voice quavering when she said her sister's name, "They are good people, but I will watch them to make sure they do not fall to evil." She set her jaw, and looked at Fenris with serious eyes.

Fenris blinked back at her, a little dazed by her torrent of words. Then he looked out the window again to hide the tiny smile he felt creeping onto his face. He shook his head to himself, and slowly spun his sword in his hands as he considered her words. Hawke stood there, back stiff and chin held high, waiting.

"And what would you do if I already alerted the Templars?" he said without looking at her. He saw her jump slightly when he began to speak, but she did not move otherwise.

"I would probably leave here, send Varric to warn Anders and Merrill, take Bethany and leave Kirkwall this very minute," she said simply. Fenris waited. Hawke did not fidget, and when she spoke next, her voice was calm. "Why?"

_So, she would leave Anders's safety in Varric's hands, instead of going herself. That is… interesting._

Fenris ignored her question. "You wouldn't strike me down first? You would just… leave?" He still did not look directly at her, though he struggled not to.

She laughed softly. "What purpose would that serve? Bethany and I would still have to flee, and killing you would only slow us down, and make me a murderer, besides. And, I've seen you fight. You could probably kill me with one blow. Unlike your practice target out there, I'm no dummy," she explained with a rueful chuckle. She shifted then, putting one hand on her hip as the other tapped her lips thoughtfully. "I _could_ kill you, but not toe to toe, not like this. That's not really my style, anyway. Just as telling the Templars isn't yours." She smiled deviously at him.

Fenris allowed himself to look at her then, and he chuckled when he took in the sight of her fully, standing there with one hand on her hip, smirking, while still looking dangerous and defiant.

"I was merely… curious," he shrugged. He tossed his sword onto the bed, then took a step towards her. He bowed as he spoke. "I am sorry, Hawke. I spoke to you harshly, and judged you unfairly. The shortcoming is with me, not you." He straightened, then looked away from her, slightly embarrassed. "I was surprised by what I overheard, and I… lashed out at you. I am… not very trusting, I know."

Hawke's hand dropped away from her hip, though Fenris could not see her face. "I understand, Fenris. Really."

"I hope I… didn't hurt your wrist… when I…" His voice failed him.

Hawke reached for her wrist, rubbing it absentmindedly, like she had the night before. "What? Oh, no. No, you didn't hurt me, Fenris. On the contrary... it… startled me, that's all."

Fenris shook his head, then, after a few moments, he looked at her. Her face was as open and guileless as any he had ever seen, full of both concern and encouragement. He turned away, and began to pace slowly. "I will not pretend to be happy to find myself in the company of both a blood mage and an abomination. But I will honor my pledge to work with them, though I will be watching carefully." He stopped pacing, and fixed her with a serious look. "And I will not hesitate to act if they fall to corruption."

Hawke nodded slowly, a relieved smile curving her lips. "I think we can all live with that."

Fenris began to smile, then hesitated. "Tell me one other thing."

"Anything," Hawke replied immediately.

"Did I mishear, or do you really think Anders can't complain about his looks?" Fenris asked. "That… hair and the… scruffy… thing on his face?" he continued, voice incredulous, and slightly disgusted.

Hawke blushed, but she couldn't help but laugh at the sour look on Fenris's face. "I was just trying to cheer him up. Maker, he was eighteen different kinds of morose after I told him to stop whining about the Chantry." She gave him a suspicious look.

"I see," Fenris said, though his chest felt suddenly lighter. "Again, just curious," he added casually.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "So, are you too tired after your exercises, or do you feel up to adventuring with us?" She began to move towards the door.

"Whatever you need, I am ready to assist." He retrieved his sword from the bed and its scabbard from the table.

"Those moves were incredible, by the way. I can't wait to see you use them in battle."

Fenris felt his cheeks begin to burn, so he ducked his head as he strapped the scabbard on, and slid the sword into it gracefully. She stopped and turned suddenly, and he pulled up short to avoid walking into her.

"Teach me," she said. Fenris blinked.

"Teach you what?"

"How to fight against someone like you. Someone wielding a two-handed weapon, I mean. I guess what I am asking is, can we practice together sometimes?"

She looked so excited and hopeful, that Fenris had to smile again. "I don't see why not."

Hawke clapped her hands and laughed. Fenris lifted an eyebrow, again wondering at her vacillating moods, but she had already turned, oblivious to his expression. He followed her into the great hall.

"Everything is fine, and nobody had to die for once," she called over to Bethany and Varric from the top of the stairs.

Fenris just shook his head, deciding it might be best to remain quiet today, lest Hawke's mood change for the worse, too quickly for him to notice.

* * *

The four of them had barely taken two steps into the Chantry square before a pretentious older man in a fine, red suit blocked their way.

Hawke moved in front of Bethany, and Fenris, who had been walking at the back of the group, took two steps forward to stand next to Hawke, blocking Bethany almost completely from sight. The haughty gentleman looked Fenris over with a shrewd eye, then turned his attention to Hawke.

"You there, Fereldan. I wish to speak with you," he said in a commanding, nasal voice, with one of the snobbiest accents Hawke had ever heard. The noble leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I've heard you have dealings with certain… elements… in the city. You can get things done, "on the sly" as they say?"

"That's a fancy way to put it," Hawke said.

The man puffed out his chest, his hands clasped behind his back. "I am a magistrate in this city and as such, I wish to hire you for a small, albeit important, job," he explained. "A man I sentenced to a life in prison has escaped custody. He's been tracked to an abandoned ruin outside the city. I'd like you to retrieve the fugitive, and hand him over to the guard."

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the magistrate, mistrusting something about the man. Hawke seemed to share his suspicion, for she asked, "Why is there such a clamor to catch this man? What has he done?"

"He's escaped. That's reason enough to catch him."

Hawke sighed. "We're both intelligent people. There's something in the ruins, isn't there?"

"There is something, yes," the magistrate admitted. "There are… creatures, in the ruins. The guards I sent are ill-equipped to deal with such beasts."

"It would be easier to seal up the entrance, and let the beasts take care of him," Hawke said. Fenris tried not to laugh.

_Yes, she is in rare form lately, indeed, _he thought, reaffirming his plan to stay quiet, and to avoid having another quarrel with Hawke so soon after their last two.

The magistrate bristled. "I believe in justice, Fereldan, not unbridled slaughter. I will not let prisoners be eaten just because I don't want to get my hands dirty."

Hawke sighed again, more impatiently this time. "One man is hardly a slaughter, but have it your way. I'm sure if you send in enough men this time, they'd do fine. I know the incoming guard captain, do you want me to ask her for you?"

"No," the magistrate said, a little too quickly for Fenris's liking. "The more guards who know, the easier it is for this to get out. Those men gossip like old fishwives."

Hawke crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Fine. Do you know what manner of beasts are in the ruins, at least?"

"I don't know what they look like. I've never seen one myself. But the guards say these things have already torn through a full company of men."

Hawke looked at him incredulously. "So, you won't block up the entrance and let one escaped criminal die, but you _will_ send a full company of guards to their deaths?"

"You can stand here asking me questions, or you can take the job. Your choice," the magistrate said, drawing himself up, and giving her his best haughty glare.

Hawke waved off his fit of pique. "Fine. You look like you can pay, and we are looking for work. We'll take the job."

"The ruins are near the Wounded Coast. You will see the guards. Bring the fugitive in alive, quickly and quietly," the magistrate ordered. "Not only will you be well-paid, you'll have the gratitude of a city magistrate. Useful for a refugee, wouldn't you agree?" He gave Hawke the smallest possible nod of acknowledgment, before dismissing them all with a wave of his hand.

Hawke stalked away, muttering to herself. Fenris smiled to himself as he listened to her cursing. He caught the words "noble prig" and "stick up his ass," but little else.

* * *

"Spiders. Just perfect," Hawke yelled over the chittering, as she slashed at hairy, skittering legs.

Hawke and Fenris fought their way up the cliffside path, while Bethany stood behind, on a nearby rock, laying about herself frantically with fireballs. A high keening noise was coming out of her mouth, and her eyes looked wild with panic. Varric kept his distance, both from Bethany's fire and the few spiders that slipped past Fenris or Hawke. He plunked away with Bianca, aiming at the spiders that got too close to Bethany's safe perch.

"There are people up here, being attacked by more spiders. We have to help!" Hawke called back to them as Fenris rushed up over the incline and disappeared from view. She followed him, finishing off the last few spiders as she went.

"Come on, Sunshine, me and Bianca will keep the spiders away. Just don't blast any fireballs at my feet, all right?" Bethany looked pale, but she let Varric help her down from the rock, and they ran up the path to assist.

A dwarf and several mercenaries were clustered around a campfire, surrounded by a sea of writhing, bulbous arachnids. The strangers struggled desperately to keep from being overwhelmed. Fenris was cutting great swathes through the spiders, and Hawke came behind him, daggers flashing, killing the wounded ones he left in his wake.

Varric began plugging away at the spiders that were at the center of the camp, hoping to distract them. Bethany cast some healing spells, then began blasting spiders one by one.

"Ew, eww, ewww," she squealed, though she stood fast and continued her magical assault.

"You're doing great, Sunshine," Varric said. "We've almost finished them off now."

After a few minutes, the last few spiders finally died, rolling over to expose their glossy, bloated bellies and crinkled legs. Bethany shuddered and looked away. Varric patted her on the back.

Hawke approached the beleaguered lot they had saved from certain death. The dwarf was the only one who didn't wear armor, so Hawke addressed him.

"Out of your element, dwarf?" she asked.

"No thanks to this lot. Can't get a decent blade at a bargain anymore," the dwarf groused, eying his mercenary companions. He looked Hawke up and down. "You though, you're what a man needs… a skilled enthusiast." Fenris raised an eyebrow, and looked to see Hawke's expression.

"You can start making sense any time now," she told the dwarf darkly, shaking gooey ichor off her blades.

"My manners! Javaris Tintop, merchant and investor. I need forward thinkers to help court the Qunari."

"Court the Qunari?" Varric piped up. "Maker, think of the children!"

Javaris pointedly ignored Varric. "Those horn heads in Kirkwall have a powder… that explodes. And it's just dust, no lyrium, no demons. Anyone can use it." Fenris's brow creased with concern.

"I often look at every second idiot and think 'He needs more power,'" Varric butt in again. Fenris raised a second eyebrow, wondering if Varric perhaps knew this Javaris already, or if dwarves were just always surly to one another.

"I doubt they were eager to sell something like that," Hawke pointed out.

"That Arishok said I wasn't worthy, that only their outcasts, the Tal-Vashoth, are that mercenary. I said 'Great, I'll go talk to them.' Didn't go over well." Hawke frowned down at the jabbering dwarf. "But, it made me think… maybe he'll bargain if I get rid of something that bothers him more than, well, me." Fenris listened, shaking his head at Javaris's blithe ignorance of Qunari ways.

"The Tal-Vashoth," Hawke said flatly.

"The Tal-Vashoth," Javaris repeated, nodding. "Are you up for some paid hunting?"

"Don't dwarves have something like that already? Explode-y things?" She looked to Varric, who shrugged, then to Javaris.

"Small things, shaped to crack faults, not shatter the earth. Plus, they're mostly lyrium. Expensive, poisonous, the Chantry controls it topside, the glow makes you a target; problem after problem," he said.

"What's the point when we already have magic that can do the same thing?" Hawke asked, frowning.

"Maybe you have magic, all tough and human and what not. But what of the common man?" Javaris's voice took on the tone of a sales pitch. "How does he remove stumps from his land, or produce them on his enemies? What does he do when he needs a hole far too fast? Magic is hard to market, but this stuff… this stuff you can put in a bag."

Fenris frowned as he thought of the destruction he had seen in Seheron, where the Qunari had used their powder, the gaatlok, regularly, both on land and on their ships that patrolled the seas. _To see such destruction wrought here… I should warn Hawke. But no, the Arishok would never allow such secrets to be known by a bas, an outsider, not for any price. Killing the Tal-Vashoth may get us a reward from this dwarf, at least. I should not interrupt when she is so clearly displeased. I will speak with her later, and inform her of Javaris's… naivete. _

Hawke sighed. "I'm on a job for a city magistrate right now, but if it can wait a day or two, I'd be willing to step in for you. For a price."

Javaris rubbed his hands together. "I'm done bargain hunting. I want it done right."

Hawke listened impatiently to the dwarf's blathering instructions, tapping her foot. _Maker, I hope there aren't many more surprises today,_ she thought. _I don't know how much more I can take._

* * *

"A man who murders children won't survive long in the courts of Kirkwall," Hawke told the despondent elf merchant who faced her. Fenris shook his head sadly, and the other elf, Elren, shook his furiously.

"No! Don't you understand? If you take him in, he'll be free again by nightfall! He has taken dozens of elven children over the past few years. They keep. Letting him. Go. My Lia is just his latest victim! For all my damned coin, I'm still only an elf to these shemlen. There'll be no justice for my girl in the courts of Kirkwall. If there _was_ justice, this sick bastard would already be long dead." The missing girl's father had angry tears in his eyes.

Hawke's brow furrowed deeply, and she turned to the guards who had been loafing around a fire, griping about needing lunch when she arrived. "What do you say about all this?"

Elren cut in first. "They won't go in after him. I told them about Lia, and they just sat here. They're stalling, trying to give the murdering bastard a chance to get away." He pointed an accusatory finger vigorously at the guards.

"Oy now, elf. Like we said before, you're bleeding mad if you think we'll be going against the magistrate's orders." The guard lieutenant was brusque to Elren.

Hawke scowled, and her voice cut like glass. "Have some respect, this father just lost his daughter. I am a close friend of Aveline Vallen; do you know her? Yes, of course you do. I doubt she will be pleased to hear her guardsmen stood idly by, even on the orders of a magistrate, while a girl was abducted and killed. Especially when both the girl's abductor and location were known." The lieutenant fumed, but he lowered his eyes.

Fenris was impressed, but his heart fell at Hawke's next words, when she turned back to Elren.

"I'm sorry, but the magistrates of Kirkwall will pass judgment, not you or me. I will… try to at least bring your daughter's remains back to you." Her voice was kind, but firm.

"No human magistrate is going to side with an elf," Fenris said, before he could stop himself. Hawke gave him a look, but it was not sharp or angry. It was troubled.

They soon entered the passage that led deep into the ruins. Once inside, Hawke pulled them all together, her face creased with worry lines.

"Something is very wrong here. The magistrate sent us to get a fugitive criminal who had been sentenced to life imprisonment, but according to Elren, this man has never been locked away."

"And the guards didn't correct him," Varric said, hefting Bianca in one hand. "Sounds like our magistrate enjoys telling stories too."

Hawke shook her head, eyes dark with anger. "How surprising, a noble that lies. So why send us in?"

"That poor girl," Bethany said. "That poor, poor little girl."

"Let us find this bastard, and I will get you your answers," Fenris said harshly, unsheathing his sword.

* * *

"Why did it have to be more spiders," Bethany moaned as they left a large round chamber and took the nearest unlocked door.

Hawke stalked down the steps to the intersection ahead, looking about. She beckoned up at the others emphatically. "Come quickly!" Fenris ran ahead to meet her, and Varric gently guided a shaking Bethany down the steps.

Hawke crouched in front of a small elven girl who sat on the floor in a long, empty chamber.

"Who are you? Please, can you get me out of here? I just want to go home." The girl's voice trembled, and she looked up at the four of them with frightened eyes. When she saw Fenris, her eyes went wide, so he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"Lia? Your father told us you were dead!" Hawke said with breathless relief as she looked the girl over for injuries.

"My father? Is he safe? Kelder said that he'd hurt my family if I didn't come with him…" The girl shied away from Hawke's outstretched hand, so Hawke dropped it.

"Who is Kelder? How did you escape?"

"Kelder is… the man who took me…" Lia explained, standing. "I tried to make it to the entrance, but I hid when those… creatures… showed up. I thought I heard him calling for me. I almost went back to him. I didn't want to be eaten! But Kelder… he was…"

Fenris frowned hearing the girl speak about returning to her captor. _She must be delirious._

Hawke had a similar thought. "I don't see any injuries…" she said, looking closely at Lia's head. She looked back to Bethany for confirmation. Bethany shook her head, so Hawke looked back at Lia. "Are you all right?" she asked carefully.

Lia looked down, ashamed. "He… hit me. Told me I was nothing. I begged him to stop hurting me. I didn't think he would, but out of nowhere, he pushed me away and just… started crying."

Fenris's hands made fists so tight that his nails pressed painfully into his palms. Hawke kept her face neutral as she listened, but he could see her brow creased with worry, and a tightness about her mouth that indicated her anger… he had grown familiar with its appearance, lately.

"Don't you see?" Lia continued. "He didn't mean to hurt me! He told me! There are demons, they make him do these horrible things." Her voice was so innocent and fervent, it made Fenris's chest hurt.

"What kind of demons? What did they look like?" Hawke asked.

The girl looked away again. "I… don't know what they look like. I didn't actually see any of them." She looked up at Hawke, fearful. "But Kelder told me to run, to get away so they couldn't make him hurt me anymore. Please don't kill him, it's not his fault!"

Fenris's throat burned as he listened to Lia pleading with Hawke. _This child should never have had to go through this. I cannot bear this; she cannot be allowed to pity this monster._

"There are a lot of cruel people out there, princess," Varric said to Lia. "Completely demon-free."

"But it's true! How else could he do something like this?" Lia asked them all, her eyes searching their faces desperately.

"She is a child, and does not understand. Her pity is admirable, but misplaced," Fenris said, speaking gently to Hawke. Lia looked at him, her eyes full of fear and doubt. Fenris looked away, finding himself unable to bear looking into the girl's eyes. They reminded him too much of how his own eyes had looked, when he was a slave.

"Lia, I'm taking Kelder back to Kirkwall. They'll figure out what to do with him there," Hawke explained to the girl.

"Maybe they can help him," Lia said hopefully.

Hawke gave her a small but troubled smile. "Run to the entrance now, you'll find your father there. It is safe, we have cleared the way. But hurry."

As Hawke and the girl spoke, Fenris clenched his teeth so hard, he thought they would shatter. _The girl pleads for the life of her captor, like a lost slave would cry for their master. And Hawke still clings to the idea that this monster will receive justice at the hands of the same magistrate who sent us here under false pretenses. Demons or no, this Kelder will die for what he has done to Lia, and countless other elven children. Hawke must be made to see it._

Lia gave them all a quick, worried glance, then dashed back the way they had come. Hawke made a fist and punched it into the ground before standing. Fenris caught her eye and gave her a meaningful look. Hawke moved aside from the others, and Fenris approached her.

Bethany whispered a short prayer of thanks. "Oh blessed Andraste, thank you for interceding on Lia's behalf with the Maker. Thank the Maker for protecting Lia until we arrived. Please keep her safe, and watch over her and her father always."

"Seconded," Varric muttered.

"Hawke…" Fenris said. Hawke cut him off.

"I know, Fenris. Unless this Kelder spins a tale that even Varric cannot match, I cannot in good conscience allow him to return to Kirkwall. I just couldn't tell Lia that. I didn't want her running back to warn Kelder or something." She sighed, then brought two tight fists up. "Damn that ass of a magistrate… if he knew about this, and allowed it to continue…" Hawke nearly shook with rage, and Fenris found himself trying to calm her, for once.

"We will take care of Kelder first. Then, the magistrate. For now, we should move on. It does no good to sit here… brooding," he told her, giving her a wry look.

Hawke snorted. "That's rich, coming from you." She turned to Bethany and Varric, and spoke loud enough for them to hear. "Do either of you have a problem serving on Kelder's jury?"

Bethany blanched a little, but Varric shook his head. "As long as Bianca gets a vote."

Hawke led them to the other end of the empty hall, deeper into the ruins. Several skeletons tried to harry their passage, but were dispatched quickly. They turned into a corridor that dead-ended at a tightly shut door, but Fenris could hear a man muttering on the other side. Fenris put a shoulder to the door and pushed. He strained at it, and his bare feet slid across the smoothly-hewn stone floor of the ruins. Hawke joined him, and they both heaved, back to back, throwing their combined weight at it. The hinges finally groaned in protest, and the door swung inward.

Kelder seemed to be waiting for them. "I knew my father would eventually send someone. I was hoping the beasts down here would get to me first," he told them when they entered the room. To Hawke's surprise, Kelder was young, barely older than Bethany. He wore rich clothes, and a fashionable strip of beard on his chin. But his eyes…

"You wanted those creatures to kill you? Why?" Hawke found herself asking.

"It's what I deserve. I should be torn apart, forgotten down here. Not protected by my father," Kelder said, his troubled eyes distant.

Hawke frowned. "The magistrate sent me; I've never even met your father."

Kelder stood and faced them. "He didn't tell you, did he? The magistrate is my father." Fenris looked over at Hawke, and he saw her jaw muscles clenching. "He's tried so hard to keep me — and what I've done — hidden away."

Kelder looked at his hands, and Fenris felt a cold rage settle heavily in his chest. "Not hard enough, so it seems," he growled, thinking of Kelder using those hands to hit Lia, to kill other children.

"The magistrate is supposed to protect the people of the city, and that includes the elves," Hawke said.

Kelder's eyes were hollow, and his voice was small, and sad. "Father is a good man. He tried to help, to stop me. But he can't… no one can." He turned away from them, curling in upon himself. "That elf girl. She had no right to be so beautiful, so perfect. The demons said she needed to be taught a lesson, like all the others." His voice sounded far away, and so haunted. "The Circle was supposed to help me, but they lied! They said there were no demons, that I was mad. This isn't my fault."

Kelder whirled, eyes frantic now, and he stepped toward Hawke. She put out her hands warningly. "Let me get this straight. You torture and murder elven children for being too beautiful?"

"I… I didn't want to hurt them. They force me! The demons don't like it when they cry."

"Lia said you told her to run. Why? Why let her go then?"

"I was… crying and she asked me if I was all right. After everything the demons made me do to her…" Kelder seemed awed when he spoke of Lia. "She was concerned about me. How could I let them destroy something so good? So pure?"

Fenris felt a creeping sensation of wrongness crawl over him as Kelder spoke. Varric and Bethany seemed equally disturbed by his words, and they both fidgeted, vague expressions of horror on their faces. Only Hawke faced him squarely, looking him in the eye as she questioned him.

_She will not kill him without hearing his crimes from his own lips. And he is all too willing to use her as a confessor. This is madness, true madness. _Fenris tried to remain still, to be a pillar for Hawke in case Kelder's madness became too much._  
_

"I'm not getting paid enough for this," Hawke muttered as she rubbed her forehead.

Kelder began to look around wildly, as if invisible hands pushed at him from all around. "I can't stop. I've tried so many times. Please, you have to kill me. There's no other way," he said, holding his hands to his ears as if to shield himself from unheard voices. He stepped toward Hawke, his eyes wild and pleading.

Hawke looked down at Kelder, her expression deeply disturbed. Fenris came up next to her, standing so close he nearly brushed her arm. "He sees the truth of it," he whispered in her ear. "Allow me to grant his wish, if you will not." They both looked down at Kelder, who was alternately sobbing and pleading for death at her feet.

Hawke looked at Fenris, her eyes tired, sad and resigned. _Maker, he looks so calm and collected. It is all I can do to keep from shuddering and running from this… wretched madman. _

Fenris kept his face hard, trying to silently give Hawke the strength to make the right decision for Lia, and all the other elven children that Kelder would surely harm if he was allowed to return to Kirkwall.

Hawke searched Fenris's eyes, then finally closed hers, giving a short nod. Fenris stepped forward, and as he moved past her, she reached out a hand, her fingertips just barely brushing his arm. He turned and looked at her as she opened her eyes.

"Fenris, please… as gently as you can. Be merciful. He is… not well." Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and Fenris found his cold rage tempered by her plea for mercy. He nodded.

Kelder stood slowly as Hawke stepped back, and Fenris took her place in front of him. Hawke put an arm around Bethany, who hid her face in her sister's shoulder and turned away. But Hawke did not look away.

Fenris concentrated, and used the tricks Danarius has drilled into him to force his will, cold rage and power into a tight ball. Then he pushed against it, squeezed it along the lines of lyrium, feeling the familiar burning along his markings as his skin thrummed with a tight, tingling sensation. Then it all burst forth, covering him with a searing aura of blue light.

Kelder closed his eyes. "Tell my father… I'm sorry," he said to Hawke. To Fenris, he whispered, "Thank you."

Fenris set his jaw, and forced most of the coursing lyrium power into his right arm. He plunged his hand deep, through Kelder's chest, quickly severing his spinal cord so he would feel little pain. He then carefully squeezed his sharply gauntleted fingers around Kelder's heart, stopping it in two short beats. Fenris did not twist or ravage any other organs as usually did, and he maintained tight control on his power as he carefully rephased his hand. He pulled it back out, leaving no outward damage to Kelder's body, as the now-dead young man slumped to the ground.

Fenris looked down at Kelder's face, which looked surprisingly peaceful now that lines of insanity and panic no longer creased it. Then he turned to look at Hawke. "It is done, as you asked."

Her eyes were hard, and no longer brimming with tears. She nodded gratefully at Fenris. "Thank you. I don't think I would have had the strength to do that, but it needed to be done." She then turned, and led Bethany out of the ruins.

"Shit, I don't think I would have had the strength even to ask _you_ to kill him." Varric shook his head at Hawke's retreating back, then he looked up at Fenris. "This will make for a hell of a story, if I can find some way to make it less… disturbing. The two of you make for one hell of a heroic duo."

Fenris gave Varric a wry smile. "I suppose we do at that."

* * *

**19 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Today was chock full of surprises. I used to think I loved surprises, but I am not so sure anymore.

First, we ran into the prince of Starkhaven who was yelling at the Grand Cleric in front of the Chantry. That would be surprise enough, but Prince Sebastian Vael also happens to look eerily alike to John, except for his eyes, and his armor. He looked older than John too, but they could easily have passed for brothers. I have never swooned in my life, as I am hardly the swooning type, but I very nearly did when I got a good look at him. I still do not know what to make of it.

Prince Sebastian is offering a sizable bounty on the members of a mercenary company who fulfilled a contract to kill his entire family, down to the last child and servant. It seems a just cause, and profitable too, but I would be lying if I did not admit I am a little desperate to meet this Sebastian Vael. Perhaps up close, he will resemble John less, and it will not haunt me to know someone so very like him is here in Kirkwall. I kept the notice so no one else can fulfill the deed.

Fenris, at least, was a pleasant surprise. We both made our apologies, and all seems well on that front. He is willing to tolerate my apostates, for now. At least there are no more secrets to worry about. None that I know if, anyway.

He was practicing some diabolical move when we entered his mansion, and I marvel at his speed and grace anew whenever I see him wield that big sword of his. I've asked him to spar with me, so I can learn some new techniques. He agreed, and I must admit that I am terribly excited at the idea of going up against him alone. Maker, I hope he doesn't hurt me. I'll try not to hurt him.

The next horrible present fate gave me today was a sudden visit from a city magistrate. He wanted me to track down his insane son who killed at least a dozen elven children, and who had abducted another, all while under the protection of his magistrate father… but his snobby accent made it sound like "find an escaped fugitive that I sentenced to prison, and return him to me alive so I can bring him to justice." Isn't it funny how different noble accents can be?

On the way to the ruins where the magistrate sent us, we ran into some jabbering dwarf named Javaris who wants us to help kill rogue Qunari or something. All I know is that I was covered in spider goo because of him, and then he talked my ear off about exploding powder. I will likely need to search the Wounded Coast for Flint mercenaries for Prince Vael's request anyway, so what are a few Tal-Vashoth added in?

Once Javaris finished selling me on the idea of helping him get his explosive powder recipe, we continued to the ruins where the magistrate's "fugitive" was trapped. Outside, we talked with Lia's father, Elren, and discovered the truth, that the fugitive was a repeat offender who was never jailed, and that he had again abducted an elven child.

Thank the Maker, the girl he had abducted, Lia, was still alive. We found her, mostly unharmed physically, but she was in a bad state mentally. At least she is with her family again, and Kelder, the magistrate's mad son, is dead. Kelder wanted to die, and it was painfully, tragically obvious that there was no other way to keep him from harming another child.

It was a hard decision, but it was the right one, and Fenris was willing to do the deed when I found myself unable. It disturbs me deeply that it had to end like this, that it ever came to this. Kelder's father, a city magistrate, should have been able to do more for his son than cover up his crimes. The failure lies with him for not protecting the elven children of Kirkwall, and for not protecting his son from his own madness.

I was very glad for Fenris's strength at my side. He is proving himself to be more invaluable each day, when we aren't quarreling, that is. Unlikely as it seems, I think we actually understand one another better now, having argued a bit.

I found a necklace down in those ruins, just before we found Lia. The pendant is pewter, and it is a relief of wolves howling at the moon. It reminds me of Fenris, so I think I might give it to him, as thanks for all he has done today. It will be nice to have the chance to surprise someone else, instead of everyone surprising me.

* * *

Fenris watched Hawke curiously as she scribbled away at her journal. Her quill flew across the page, her deft hand dipping it in the inkwell, just as it began to run dry. He yearned to ask her what she wrote, but he knew she would likely offer to let him see, and he was too ashamed and embarrassed to admit to her his shortcoming. Despite it being the fault of Danarius, indeed the entire system of slavery in Tevinter, he did not want Hawke to pity him. Fenris did not think he could bear that.

So he sipped his wine, and watched her face instead. Irritated, then thoughtful; business-like, then haunted. Smiling, then blushing with a knowing smile playing on her lips. On and on she wrote, and Fenris read her face, taking in all her moods and expressions. Finally, she smiled a soft, mysterious smile and put her quill down, looking up at him.

"I have something for you," she said, her expression unchanging. Fenris felt his face go blank as he began to panic, hoping Hawke had not written something she wanted him to read. He glanced at her journal nervously.

Then he fidgeted in his seat, and looked into his wine cup. "Yes, what is it?"

Hawke rummaged through one of the pouches at her belt for a few moments. Fenris relaxed, watching her, now curious. Hawke closed her fist around something, then hid her hand beneath the table.

"Hold out your hand, and close your eyes. It's a surprise," she said. Fenris raised an eyebrow at her, but she just smiled and nodded insistently at him. "Go on."

Fenris placed his hand, palm up, on the table, arm stretched toward Hawke. His fingertips rested on her open journal. He gave her a final wary look, then closed his eyes.

He heard a clinking, and felt the cool slither of a metal chain coiling into his palm. Then, a heavy round metal object dropped into his hand. Hawke's palm brushed his fingertips as she removed her hand, and Fenris shivered involuntarily at her touch.

He cracked one eye open, and saw Hawke biting her lip, eying him nervously. "Sorry. I didn't mean..." she paused, ducking her head. "I know you don't like being touched."

Fenris opened his eyes fully, and lifted his hand. He looked down at the pewter pendant that lay there. He picked it up, inspecting the scene depicted on it. Two wolves, one sitting, the other standing, howled together on a ridge, heads thrown back, mouths slightly open. Their fur, ears, and feet were all quite detailed, and they each had a small, green gemstone eye. A full moon hung overhead, cleverly dimpled with craters that matched the way the real moon looked on a clear night. A lake was etched in the distance, some kind of deceptive imprint making it look like the water rippled as he moved the pendent. Trees dotted the landscape, leaves and branches cunningly inscribed. Fenris looked back to Hawke.

She was still biting her lip, watching him closely.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice oddly husky.

"I… found it in the ruins, in a chest. Just a little bit before we found Lia," she said, brow creasing with concern. "You don't like it."

Fenris looked back at the intricate pendant. "It's… fine."

Hawke's face fell. "Oh. I thought maybe... There was a full moon the night we met, so it reminded me of you. And the green eyes," she explained, growing sheepish. She gave a too casual shrug. "You can sell it if you want, and use the coin to buy something that suits you better."

Fenris stared at her. "No," he said fiercely. Hawke froze. "I meant... it is _too_ fine. I cannot accept this, Hawke."

A triumphant smile spread across Hawke's face. "And why, pray tell, can't you accept fine gifts from me?" Hawke reached over, and pointedly lifted the expensive bottle of wine that sat in front of him. She poured herself a cup, and took a long sip, her eyes dancing as she met his gaze over the lip of it.

Fenris gave her a crooked smile. "Very well, Hawke. But do not make a habit of this."

Hawke waved a hand dismissively and set her cup down with a thunk. "Only one amulet for you. Dwarves like to wear chain upon chain around their necks, but you are no dwarf." She paused. "I suppose Varric doesn't, but I imagine that's because it'd rip out all of his chest hair."

Fenris chuckled, and he slipped the chain over his head. It was long, so it caught on his ears, tangling slightly in his hair as he tried to free it.

"Here, let me help," Hawke said with a laugh as she leaned over the table. She carefully lifted one end of the chain and slid it up his ear, then lowered it around his neck, careful not to touch him, dropping it once it was fully free of his hair. Fenris shuddered with pleasure at the sensation of the metal slithering along the sensitive shell of his ear. He quickly untangled the other side and tucked the pendant away, hoping the flush had faded from face when he looked back at Hawke. The pendant hung, cool and heavy, just over his heart.

"I don't remember my real name. I have forgotten it, but Danarius called me Fenris, his 'little wolf'. It... became my name," he told her suddenly.

Her eyes widened with surprise. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry you can't remember your real name."

Fenris inclined his head to her. "But it means your gift is even more appropriate than you knew."

Hawke laughed. "I like 'Fenris'. It's... nice. Very pleasing to say." She smiled at him. "Thank you for telling me, now I feel quite satisfied with myself for picking out the perfect gift."

"Thank you, Hawke. It is a truly magnificent pendant. I appreciate the gesture." Fenris reached for the wine bottle.

Hawke slyly slid her wine cup over to him, and he filled it, then his own. She raised her cup to him in toast. "One good turn deserves another, I think." She paused, and cocked her head at him, smiling. "I'm glad you didn't just up and leave. I would have been lost without you today."

Fenris raised his cup to her, and he gave her his best smile. "I remain at your side."

* * *

**A/N:** Magistrate's Orders was one of my least favorite quests until I happened to take Fenris with me one time. It still find it disturbing, but Fenris makes a big difference in how well I can stomach the outcome. Which is good, because Lia turns out so great if you off Kelder, and so sad if you don't. And I really do always wind up equipping Fenris with the Pewter Pendant of Wolves Howling at the Moon, which is found in the ruins during that quest. It just seemed too fitting not to include.


	17. Wounded Wolf

**A/N**: Two Fenris dreams, a night of camping on the coast, and a Hawke family fairy tale. I am enjoying puzzling out how Fenris got so smart. Brainy + brawny + broody = dishy.

If you like mood music to go along with your reading, I usually listen to the Dragon Age soundtracks when writing/proofreading. My particular favorites are the Hawke Family Theme, Love Scene, Rogue Heart, Dragon Age 2 Main Theme, and, of course, Fenris Theme, all from the DA2 soundtrack. (Inon Zur is forever my hero for so perfectly capturing Fenris in music form.)

Bioware owns all, though my fairy tale (and naughty Fenris fantasies) are quasi-original. ;)

* * *

Fenris hunches over, cold and naked, except for a tattered loincloth and the collar around his neck. The familiar stone room is windowless and dank, and the torches do little to lift the oppressive darkness that lingers in the far corners. His nose can pick up the trace scents of alchemical reagents, herbs, metal, and blood.

_No! Why must I come here? It is bad enough that my first memories are now of this place and the agony of the ritual performed here. Why do I return? Leave. Go._

"Once more, little wolf. Try it again," a firm voice commands. Fenris looks over his shoulder at Danarius. The magister's craggy, bearded face is stern, his eyes steely and dispassionate. Fenris looks back at the thick slab of marble that has been propped upright in the center of Danarius's experiment chamber. It is much wider than he, twice as tall and at least two handspans thick.

Danarius raises his staff and strikes Fenris across the back. "Now!" he commands.

_Turn and kill him. Show him what you can do. I have lived this already, why do I keep coming here? Kill him._

Fenris forces his fear and pain into a tight ball inside his mind, then pushes it outward along the lyrium pathways etched into his skin. He begins to glow, dimly, and he presses his trembling hands against the marble. His fingers disappear, but the stone resists, and Fenris can push no further.

_No! Thrust your hand into his chest and rip out his heart! Grab him by the neck and tear out his throat! You will never please him. He will never treat you with anything but disdain._

"Focus, you worthless piece of shit," Danarius hisses. He strikes Fenris again, hard, across the backs of his thighs. It stings, and Fenris's vision blurs as tears well up. But his hands sink further into the marble, up to the wrists.

With a disappointed shake of his head, the magister says, "Better. But I shouldn't have to coddle you like this. I would think that after a month, you would be suitably... motivated." Fenris trembles, pushing against the marble slab harder, as if to move through it by sheer will alone. Nothing happens.

_Hate him. Use your hatred. It is so much more effective than pain or fear. Rage at him and kill him. He would not hesitate to kill you, to tear the lyrium from your flesh and start again._

"You are doing this deliberately, aren't you, you obstinate, knife-eared idiot? I should have found someone more intelligent," Danarius muses, narrowing his eyes to slits at Fenris. Fenris does not dare to look into those eyes, but he can feel the weight of them.

He tries to focus harder, recalling the agony of the ritual, all the 'coddling' of prior experiments, all the daily, casual cruelty. He sinks into the stone up to his elbows, his hands now through it, free of the stone, pushing against nothing more than the empty, damp air behind the slab.

Danarius looks pleased. "Very good."

Fenris begins to pull his hands back. "No," the old magister commands. "Go through. _All of you_."

Fenris hesitates.

_Yes. Now you hesitate. You have tried so many times but you know you cannot. The pain is too great. He knows it too, and yet he commands you, each day, to try. He enjoys your screams, when it feels like the slab is ripping, grinding, and crushing you all at once. Your pain is merely progress to him and he hopes it will eventually build up enough to fuel you fully. Use your hatred instead and be stronger than he ever imagined._

Danarius pushes him then, his surprising strength forcing Fenris's entire body hard against the stone. Fenris's fear spikes high, feeding the lyrium. Then the pain begins, so he howls. He sinks slowly through the slab, muscles spasming in agony, making it impossible to move with any sort of purpose. The pain feeds directly into the power of the lyrium, strengthening it, allowing him to sink further. But it spirals out of his control. Fenris flounders, trying to pull back, to rein in the power humming through him. But all he can do is fall through stone. And scream voicelessly into marble.

_Fool. I told you. You keep forgetting. I have been here so many times, yet this never seems to change. It never ends. _

Finally, after what seems like hours of agony, Fenris collapses into a heap on the floor. Danarius is above him, face screwed up in disgust at Fenris's tear-stained cheeks.

"Better, but we shall try that again."

_No. Get up. Kill him now. End this.  
_

Fenris slowly shakes his head and curls into a ball.

"I don't remember," he says in a small voice. "Why does it hurt? I can't remember why it hurts."

The magister kicks at him. "Get up, you insolent, lazy cur!" Danarius kicks, again and again, and Fenris gasps as pain blossoms along his ribs. He struggles to rise, to comply, though he knows the pain of a beating will be nothing compared to the half-remembered agony that still lingers.

_No. You must remember. He will never let you be, no matter how hard you try to please him. The only way to stop it is to **kill** Danarius.  
_

"Leave him alone," a feminine voice calls. Not loudly, no. Simply. Softly. Dangerously.

Danarius and Fenris both go motionless, then look to a near, dark corner. A figure stirs there, and Fenris can make out the glint of torchlight on steel.

"Who is there?" Danarius demands, voice imperious.

"Your judge, jury and executioner," Hawke says as she emerges into the light. Her armor is red, and her eyes flash with righteous anger as she approaches Danarius with quick, sure steps. Danarius does not move, does not even even flinch as Hawke raises her daggers and plunges them both deep into his chest. He dies wordlessly and Hawke does not spare him another glance.

"It's all right, Fenris," she says tenderly as she kneels down beside him. She removes the collar, discarding it with a look of disdain. Then she pulls him into her arms, cradling him against her chest. Fenris wraps his arms around her, burying his face against her neck. He remembers her, if nothing else, and begins to cry again — from fear and pain, from relief and shame.

_No, she should not see me like this. She must never see me like this. I cannot bear her pity, I am not this wretch anymore. Send her away, tell her you wish to be alone. Run, go, anything but this!_

"Shhh, it's all right," Hawke murmurs, smoothing down his hair and kissing his forehead. "You're safe now. I'm here."

"He hit me, told me I was nothing," he says, echoing Lia's words.

"He won't be hurting anyone ever again," she responds fiercely, hugging him closer.

_No, Danarius is mine to kill. Mine. You should have killed him when I told you to! I do not need comfort. This is not over.  
_

Fenris looks up at Hawke, blinking tears out of his eyes. Hawke smiles at him, tender and reassuring, brushing the backs of her fingers gently across his cheek. He looks away, suddenly aware of his near-nakedness, but she slips two fingers under his chin and tilts his face up for a soft, sweet kiss. Fenris's eyes meet hers briefly, before slipping closed as her lips press against his.

Her fingers slide up his jaw, then she traces along the delicate shell of his ear. His body begins to simmer with heat, and he opens his mouth to her gentle probing. Their tongues dance and mingle in his mouth, slowly sweeping, then tangling. Fenris reaches up and snares a hand in her hair, holding her to him. She continues running her fingertips along the length of his ear, while her other hand rakes gently across his bare back. Her short fingernails dig sweet lines of pressure into his skin, scratching a deep, aching itch he did not realize he even had.

_No, I do not have time for this. Danarius is not dead! This is a distraction I cannot afford!_

Fenris flicks his tongue hard against hers now, teasingly. She moans into his mouth and he seizes the opportunity, darting into hers. She gives chase, and he sweeps deftly along her teeth, tickling the roof of her mouth, before finally allowing himself to be pinned by her so they can battle sensuously, languorously. He pulls her closer, her body molding against him as she softens, even as he hardens.

Nearby, Danarius stirs, then struggles to stand. Fenris still has his eyes closed, but he can see it anyway, for the Fade cares little for the trivialities of the physical world.

_Push her away, kill Danarius! He is escaping your grasp! Open your eyes!_

Fenris begins to disentangle himself from Hawke's arms, but he struggles, unwilling to break contact with her lips. Danarius begins to limp away, moving with more speed each step. Fenris finally breaks the kiss and reluctantly opens his eyes.

* * *

"I wonder if we're near the Injured Cliffs? The Limping Hills? Massive-Head-Trauma Bay? No? Just me?" Hawke glanced back at her companions. They all looked grim, tired and sweaty; no one even chuckled. She sighed. "Forget I said anything."

"It's sooo hot," Isabela whined. "I feel gritty everywhere. And I do mean _everywhere_. I think I need a bath." She turned, presenting herself to Fenris. "Do you think I need a bath?"

"I think we all know what you need," he muttered as he stalked past where she stood posing.

Isabela lifted an eyebrow. "Is that an offer?" She turned and fell into step beside him, sashaying her hips suggestively, even more than usual. Hawke glanced back at the two of them, scowling, and not for the first time.

Fenris kept his eyes on the sandy path in front of him. "No."

Hawke smirked to herself, hearing the tone in his voice. She angled their group towards a narrow, rocky path that led upward, away from the coastline. She had hoped this would go more quickly, but after leading them halfway down the Wounded Coast in search of the Tal-Vashoth and the Flint mercenaries without finding anything, even she felt sullen now. _Especially because Isabela can't keep her… mouth… shut._

"You should take off some of that spiky armor of yours. You must be _so_ hot under there, dressed all in black," Isabela said. Fenris pointedly ignored her. She persisted, musing, "I bet even your underclothes are black. Mmm, yes, I can picture it now..."

Fenris finally raised an eyebrow at her. "You wish to wager on the color of my underclothes?"

"Oooo, now that does sound like a lovely game. No matter what, I can't lose." Isabela jangled her coin purse even as Fenris lengthened his gait.

"Forget I said anything."

She sped up, matching his pace, continuing her relentless flirtation, undaunted by Fenris's disinterest. "You know, I enjoy a man with markings like that."

"You've enjoyed many, I suspect," he droned.

"Where I come from, they're called 'tattoos.' Sailors get them all the time." She reached out a hand towards Fenris's arm as if to trace one of his markings, but Fenris diverted the long way around a prickle-bush growing in the path. He maintained the extra distance between himself and Isabela, even after passing by the small plant.

He eyed her warily. "Not made of lyrium, I'd imagine."

Isabela smiled smugly back at him. "Not a one. And the pictures are different — usually _breasts_." Her lips caressed the word.

Hawke gritted her teeth. Isabela had been at this all day, and she desperately wanted to look back and see Fenris's reaction. But she couldn't take her eyes off the precarious path ahead. _Damn it, why am I always the leader? I should be back there, flirting with Fenris. To the Void with this, let Isabela lead — Maker knows she enjoys leading everyone else __**on**__…_

"I suppose a pair of lyrium breasts tattooed onto my chest _would_ make things better," Fenris said dryly.

Varric laughed, and even Hawke found herself chuckling at Fenris's long-suffering tone.

"That's me. I'm a helper," said Isabela with a defeated shrug.

Hawke soon crested the rise of the rocky path, then quickly ducked down behind a large stone and motioned the others to silence. Fenris and Isabela both crouched, their footsteps becoming instantly quiet. Varric pulled Bianca out and stood beside them all.

"Mercenaries," Hawke explained in a whisper. "At least six." She pointed at Fenris. "You, come with me." She glanced at Varric.

"Bianca and I will keep them harried from up here, as usual. Easy as pie." He petted the crossbow.

Hawke looked at Isabela. "You, use stealth to go around their camp. Get them from behind."

Isabela gave Fenris a heated look. "Normally it's me who gets it from behind." She winked at him, but Fenris's face remained implacable.

Hawke rolled her eyes and sighed. "We get it, Isabela, you need a nice, long night at The Blooming Rose. I'm sure these mercenaries have coin stashed away for just the same thing, and you can use it for that... _after_ you kill them. But for now, focus? Please?"

Isabela pouted, but she unsheathed her daggers. Fenris felt a smirk tickling his lips at Hawke's scolding of Isabela, but he tried to keep it off his face. He focused his thoughts instead on the upcoming battle.

There was a soft click as Varric released Bianca's safety catch. "Ready when you are, Hawke."

Hawke looked at Fenris and he nodded to her. He moved down the path in a silent, low crouch, with Hawke following close behind, at his back.

* * *

"Thank the Maker, some shade," Hawke exclaimed tiredly, slumping down against a section of stone wall. It sat right along the edge of the cliff in the shadow of a large tree that clung to the side of the high plateau they had just summited. They had left the Flint mercenaries' camp well over two hours ago and had been wandering upward since, in search of the Tal-Vashoth. Instead, they had found raiders, spiders, a pack of mabari, and a group of bandits intent on seizing a packet of messages marked for the Grey Warden headquarters in Weisshaupt.

Varric plopped down in the shade of a large upright rock across from her and mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief. Fenris stood between them, looking around for more signs of spiders or raiders, but he could find no imminent danger.

Isabela pulled out a waterskin and dribbled water over her kerchiefed head. Water soaked into the cloth, then ran in rivulets down her dark skin to her tunic, turning it translucent in places. Fenris caught sight of her and stared with incredulity at the woman's brazenness.

Hawke narrowed her eyes then looked away, busying herself with drinking out of her own waterskin.

"Looks... refreshing, Rivaini," Varric remarked. "Maybe I should try that, pouring water on my chest hair to cool off." He mimicked dousing himself with water, pretending to rub it all over, complete with pouting lips and fluttering eyelashes. Hawke made a strangled, spluttering noise and clapped a hand over her grinning mouth, cheeks full to bursting. She strained as she struggled to swallow, fighting and shaking her head back and forth to keep from spraying her mouthful of water all over Fenris.

Fenris moved to the other side of Hawke and settled into a restful crouch next to her, eying her with concern. "Are you all right?" he asked warily.

Hawke nodded urgently before finally managing to swallow. Then, she began to laugh. "Sorry. But, oh, Maker... Varric, never do that again while I'm drinking!"

Isabela chuckled, setting her doused cleavage rollicking before taking a long swig. "Ugh, water." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, turning her nose up. "I should have brought a flask of whiskey."

Hawke offered her waterskin to Fenris, and he hesitated before accepting it. She tried desperately not to watch his lips or to read too much significance into sharing the same drinking vessel with him. She began to lose that battle as Fenris tilted his head back and took a long, slow drink.

Hawke forced herself to look elsewhere instead. "Well, where do you think we can find these Tal-Vashoth?" she asked the group at large.

Isabela did not hesitate. "Twenty-five silver says they're at The Blooming Rose." Hawke rolled her eyes, trying not to look in Isabela's scandalous direction either. "What?" Isabela asked, when Hawke finally gave up and covered her eyes with her hand. "I'm willing to lose that bet just to get out of here. It's hot, and I'm bored." She crossed her arms and pouted.

Varric scratched at his stubbly chin. "There's caves all over the coast. They could be almost anywhere."

Hawke rubbed sand from her eyes, cursing her gritty gloves inwardly. She felt a light nudge on her arm, so she paused and glanced up to find Fenris handing back her waterskin.

As she took it from him, he informed her, "They are right below us. I can hear the sounds of their camp. It is directly behind us, down the cliffside."

Hawke's eyes went wide and she stood. Slipping past the low wall and gripping the tree trunk, she cautiously leaned out to look over the edge of the plateau. Sure enough, hulking, horned, bronze-skinned figures moved about below around several campfires. Though she strained, Hawke couldn't hear anything but seagulls, the wind, and the distant roar of waves. She looked back at Fenris, but he was idly drawing in the sand with a finger.

"Well, I guess we just need to find a way down there, then," she said, glancing back down at the camp.

"Can we take a _break_?" Isabela moaned. "I'll shrivel up and _die_ if I have to go back under this sun so soon." She sat unceremoniously next to Varric, flashing a scandalous amount of thigh and underthings to where Hawke, and Fenris, were sitting.

"_Fine_," Hawke said darkly. She sighed as she sat back down, resting her back against the low wall, adding, "I could use a rest too, I suppose. Maker, but it is brutal today."

Fenris pulled off his sword and lay it down within arm's reach before reclining against a stone block, facing the sun. He stretched his long legs out, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight. Hawke watched him, appreciatively but quizzically.

"Aren't you hot?" Isabela asked, boldly speaking aloud the question that Hawke was only thinking.

Fenris responded without opening his eyes. "No."

Hawke's own eyes were drawn briefly upward, though she couldn't really see the beads of sweat and strands of hair clinging to her forehead. Her gaze shifted back to him. "But surely you must be sweltering, Fenris. Come, there is enough shade for both of us," she offered, stirring to shift further down the low wall.

The corner of Fenris's mouth twitched up a little. "Do not trouble yourself, Hawke. You forget that I am from the North, where it gets far hotter than this most days. My armor was designed for such, and I am used to the heat. This is mild. It feels… nice." He still did not open his eyes, and he settled back further against the stone block.

Hawke exchanged glances with Varric, who shrugged, and Isabela, who winked. Looking back to Fenris, she replied simply, "As you wish." It was all she could think of to say — everything else was just more questions.

They sat in silence, and a small, blessed breeze blew through to gently fan them. Like Fenris, Isabela and Varric both closed their eyes and settled back. They began to doze in the breezy heat of the afternoon.

Hawke, however, kept watch, though truthfully she mostly watched Fenris.

His breathing was slow and deep, and after several long minutes, she began to wonder if he, too, dozed. She enjoyed the rare opportunity to study his features from so close and so well-lit. The breeze stirred his hair, and Hawke smiled as it flew about like tufts of dandelion fluff. What she missed in the way of a peaceful doze, she made up for with the indulgence of restful fantasies.

As she rather openly took him in, Fenris cracked one eye and looked at her. Hawke looked away quickly, trying to make the timing seem natural, but still she chewed her lip. He regarded her for a good moment, then stretched unconcernedly. Drawing up one leg, he leaned forward towards her and propped an arm across on his knee.

"Hawke. We need to talk."

She looked at him, and her heart began to pound when she saw how serious his eyes were. She glanced to where Varric and Isabela napped, then back at Fenris.

"Yes?" she asked quietly. _Maker, my voice sounds so… timid. I'm an adventurer, why does this man do this to me? Ugh... No, I'm just being considerate of Varric and Isabela.  
_

"Killing these Tal-Vashoth will not bring Javaris any closer to persuading the Arishok to sell the explosive powder recipe," he said.

Hawke blinked a few times. "The… who... what?"

Fenris flicked a finger, indicating the camp down the side of the cliff. "The Tal-Vashoth," he explained, more slowly. "The dwarf hopes disposing of them will induce the Qunari leader to open negotiations for the blackpowder's secrets. But he is... mistaken."

"I... see," she said, squinting a little. "You seem to know a lot more about all of this than Javaris does. Not that he made much sense to begin with."

Fenris gave her a wry smile. "I know a fair amount about the Qunari from my time in Seheron. Tal-Vashoth are those who have left the Qun. They are seen as less than men and more as beasts with the faces of men for having abandoned the ways of the Qunari. The Arishok will not value their deaths — for in his eyes, they are worse than dead already."

Hawke furrowed her brow, then shrugged. "Well, I couldn't care less if Javaris gets his recipe or not. In fact, I'd probably prefer it if he didn't. I'll just have to make sure he pays us for our services, whether the Arishok approves or not. At least we'll be ridding the area of potential marauders."

Fenris nodded. "Reasonable. A wise plan. I just thought you should know. You did not seem… receptive yesterday, so I waited to speak with you when you were… more at ease."

Hawke felt her cheeks warming. "Was I that bad?" she asked, trying to sound more roguish and less sheepish.

Fenris's lips quirked into a smile as he looked at her sidelong. "I am hardly one to judge." Then he looked down, beginning to trace a finger through the sand again, not trusting himself enough to look at her further. "It was a long day, full of… misadventures. It cannot be helped, sometimes. In the end, you did well. That is what matters."

Hawke glanced at him, smiling at both the praise and the view. "What are you drawing?" she asked, following his gaze to the ground.

Fenris stopped moving his finger, studying what he'd drawn. "Nothing," he said, quickly erasing the profile of Hawke that he had been idly tracing. "Just… patterns." His subconscious desire to trace her features surprised him almost as much as the ease with which he could picture her in his mind.

Hawke tried to catch the expression on his face, but he was in shadow now that the sun had moved while they rested. Hawke, Varric, and Isabela were no longer shaded, and the two snoozing companions began to stir as the sun's rays beat down on them once more.

"Time to get a move on," Hawke said. Fenris rose easily and slipped his sword back on. She cursed, struggling to her feet. "Damn, I think my leg fell asleep. It's a good thing we weren't ambu..." Her leaden leg buckled then and she flailed, nearly tumbling backwards over the low stone wall that ran along the cliff's edge.

Then Fenris was there, and she suddenly found herself clinging to him, one hand braced awkwardly against the stone wall, the other clutching at his shoulder. His hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him, holding her upright until she got both feet securely under her. Reluctantly, Hawke let go of his shoulder and looked up at him. But his hand fell away and he was already turning, walking towards Isabela and Varric.

Varric stood and lifted Bianca up, shaking sand out of her mechanisms. Isabela gave a great stretch, flashing more than just a smile in Fenris's general direction. "Mmmm, now I'd like to wake up to that sight every now and then," she told him dreamily as he walked by.

"'Every now and then?' You flatter me," he replied flatly, stalking off to look for a trail that led downwards.

Isabela heaved a great sigh, but she got to her feet and joined the others to follow him. Hawke brought up the rear, stamping her foot in an attempt to get the blood flowing to her leg again.

_Andraste preserve me, what just happened between us, back there? No, he just kept me from falling to a humiliating death, that's all. Right. Well, if he wishes to lead for now, I'll not argue. But, by the Maker, it won't help at all to have to walk behind him. At least I can't find him distracting when I'm out front._

* * *

**20 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

We have successfully eradicated the Tal-Vashoth from the Wounded Coast. We also found a band of Flint mercenaries and dispatched them to explain to the Maker why they helped eradicate the Vaels of Starkhaven. We were waylaid by feral mabari, spiders, raiders, and bandits in the meantime, so the hunt for both groups took most of the day, from near daybreak to sundown. We also found some messages bound for Weisshaupt, for the Grey Wardens. I must remember to locate their dead-drop in Lowtown. The last thing I need is another Blight because some important Warden missive went missing.

It was Fenris who finally located the Tal-Vashoth camp, which was tucked away behind a plateau, quite far back from the coastline. They seemed set up to assault caravans and other unlucky travelers. Most of them had holed up in a large cave at the rear of the passage, so it took us the better part of the afternoon to root them all out.

Fenris doesn't think this will help Javaris convince the Arishok of the price of butter, but there is plenty of coin to be made for us just off the salvage. And, of course, it is a good and decent thing to do, Maker be praised and all that.

One of the Tal-Vashoth warned us away as we approached the camp. Apparently he was not happy with his fellows' less-than-honorable intentions. Though he admitted himself that he had cast off his honor in leaving the Qun... so, he was upset that they were less-than-honorable dishonorable men...? Regardless, he was all to happy once he realized we were there to deal with the Tal-Vashoth, though he would not join us against them. These are a very strange people.

This was my first encounter fighting the Qunari… or rather, the kossith, since Fenris has pointed out to me that Tal-Vashoth are not of the Qun and therefore are not Qunari. Their race is properly termed the kossith, and anyone who joins the Qun is Qunari, regardless of race… or something. He is very knowledgeable about them. And many other things, come to think of it. Magic, the weather, the history of the Chantry and the Imperium. And he speaks both our language and the Tevinter language fluently... It is interesting how much he knows, for someone who used to be a slave. Not that I think slaves are innately stupid, just rather that they'd be under-educated. Fenris is unique, in many, many ways. Perhaps one day I can get it out of him, how he came to be so clever.

Back to business, We are camping in the Tal-Vashoth's former camp tonight. The day was nearly gone by the time we emerged from the cavern, and inside, Isabela had put her foot directly in a trap, despite Varric yelling for everyone to watch their step. We did not bring a healer with us today, since Anders was busy in the clinic, and I'm still trying to keep Bethany out of sight until the templars thin out. So I bandaged Isabela's ankle as best as I could, even made up an elfroot poultice, and then gave her a healing potion. But she still cannot walk very well, and it is much too dangerous to travel the Wounded Coast at night without sure footing. Fenris flatly refused to carry her back to Kirkwall, not that I blame him, and Varric and I can't do it. So here we remain.

Camping here is little trouble, though. I warned Mother and Bethany that we might be gone for more than a day, since The Wounded Coast can be quite treacherous. I nearly broke my ankle twice looking for Feynriel in the dark last time. This time, I nearly broke my neck in broad daylight. I would have pitched backwards over a cliff, if Fenris hadn't held onto me. So, in short, we decided it would be best to camp here for the night. There are plenty of supplies and rations left over from the Tal-Vashoth, and if any of their scouts return back to here, we can rid the coast of more trouble.

Besides, it's already nearly dark, and now that it's cooled off, it is a beautiful night to be near the sea.

* * *

"What a marvelous sunset. Makes me wish I was watching it from the deck of a ship." Isabela sighed, adding wistfully, "Red sky at night, sailors' delight."

Fenris gazed up at the sky, giving it a critical look. "Yes. Tomorrow should be quite a nice day."

Hawke reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the huge setting sun that was sinking below the horizon. She still held her open journal, letting the ink dry before she packed it away. Her gaze settled on Fenris, suddenly not reluctant at all. "How do you know?" she asked, brow furrowed but a half smile of curiosity on her face.

Fenris shrugged, then hesitantly pointed into the sky at several wheeling birds. "The seagulls are flying high tonight. Birds often fly lower if the weather is turning." A gentle wind wafted towards them, smelling of brine, and he made a gesture indicating its direction. "And this breeze is slow, and westerly. That usually means no storm for at least the next day." Hawke raised an eyebrow, but he continued, gesturing at the few lazy clouds that drifted along. "These clouds should pass through, and it will be a clear night. With hardly any moon, there will be many stars."

Both her eyebrows were up now, voice quiet with disbelief. "That's… amazing. How do you know so much? First the Qunari, now this? You're one of the most intelligent people I know."

Fenris was glad that night was falling, because he could not keep the flush from tinging his cheeks at Hawke's compliment. He looked away.

"You seem to know as much about weather as I do," Isabela concurred. "And it took me years at sea. Care to be my first mate if I get another ship?" Hawke's disbelief turned on the Rivaini woman as Isabela added with a smirk, "Not that you'd really be my _first_… but we could pretend."

Fenris looked back up at the sky, ignoring Isabela as the stars began to wink into sight, one by one. Hawke set her journal aside, then reached over to the pot hanging above the campfire, to stir the stew she had assembled from the Tal-Vashoth's provisions. She tasted it hesitantly before adding a few more pinches from the spice box she'd found in a crate from an Orlesian caravan.

"Do we have any bread?" Isabela asked with a pout. "I hate having stew without bread to dip in it." She reclined on her bedroll, her lame foot propped up on a low crate that Hawke had padded with blankets. The woman exposed so much leg that Hawke idly wondered if she hadn't maimed herself on purpose, just to give Fenris a show.

"Yes, we have _bread_, Isabela," Hawke said offhandedly, stirring a while longer before she sat back on the bedroll she had appropriated from one of the Tal-Vashoth. "And bottles of ale, not that you should drink more than one, not with your ankle. The last thing we need is you twisting the other one trying to dance a drunken jig."

"Yes, Mother," Isabela responded in a dejected, sing-song voice.

Steam wafted away in the soft breeze and Varric inhaled it sharply through his nose. "Smells good already, Hawke," he said appreciatively. "Much better than the mystery stew served at The Hanged Man." He cocked his head at her. "I never knew you could cook."

Hawke turned to him with a smile. "Mother is terrible in the kitchen, so Father usually cooked for us. He taught me, and I often cooked for my family after he died. I still would, but Bethany usually takes care of it now, now that I'm so busy 'adventuring.'" Fenris turned to look at her as she shrugged and laughed. "I may not look matronly, but I do know how to run a household. I've been doing it for years."

Varric chuckled. "Well, look at you, Hawke. Nothing an audience loves more than a genuine, multi-talented heroine who can do it all." He set Bianca aside and looked around the campfire. "Speaking of which, anyone got any good stories to tell? Nothing better than stories around a campfire."

Isabela piped up. "I've got a story. It's about a pirate queen who had a terrible, piercing scream that could make your ears bleed. She would only use it when she couldn't get any ale." She began to inhale dramatically, bosom threatening her already strained tunic.

"_Fine_," Hawke relented, reaching behind herself into the full crate bearing the mark of a brewery that she had dragged over. She rummaged around, bottles clinking. Finally she pulled out a small, wax-sealed ale bottle. She leaned toward Isabela, rolling it into her greedy, outstretched hand.

"But she got her ale and everyone lived happily ever after. The end." Isabela gave a curt flourish, then pulled the wax-covered stopper out of the bottle using only her teeth. She spat the waxy cork to the side, then began to nurse the bottle like a hungry babe at the teat.

Varric laughed. "They like their stories short and to the point in Rivain, I guess. Elf, Hawke? Either of you got any stories?"

Fenris and Hawke looked across the campfire at one another expectantly, each hoping the other would speak. Fenris found himself distracted by the way Hawke looked in the darkness, her face lit by the campfire instead of by torches or braziers. He found she looked… softer with most of her armor off, her hair tousled by the breeze as she leaned over the steaming stew pot, cooking. He could almost imagine her in a cozy house, in a warm kitchen, tending her family. With a start, he realized he had been staring at her, so he abruptly looked away.

Hawke watched him for a moment, considering and wondering. "I suppose… I might have a story that I can tell. But you might have heard it already," she finally said, trying to hide her nervousness by ducking her head to wipe the spoon on the lip of the pot.

"It's the story of a man who is enslaved by a sorceress," she began as she settled herself on her bedroll. She saw Fenris's back stiffen slightly, but he continued to look up at the stars.

"Once upon a time, there was a young man who was the mayor's son. He was the strongest, handsomest, cleverest young man in the village and the most beloved son of the mayor, and everyone liked him. He was very skilled with a sword, so the villagers grew to rely on his strength and cleverness to keep them safe from harm.

Fathers clapped him on the back whenever he passed and asked him to apprentice with them or help on their farms. Mothers baked him pies and asked him to take their daughters on walks, hoping he would marry into their families. The little boys asked him to teach them how to wield their stick swords or how to hunt. Little girls invited him to their dollies' tea parties and asked him to show them how to dance.

The young men of the village were very jealous of the mayor's son, but none of them dared to speak ill of him to anyone else, not even each other. Instead, they outdid one another trying to befriend him, hoping that they could ride his coattails to better fortunes. The mayor's son could see that they were just trying to ingratiate themselves to him, however, so he remained aloof.

The young women of the village all fought over him and were terribly jealous of each other, so the mayor's son could never fall in love with any of them. He was polite to them when their mothers would bring them by to speak with him, but he never courted a single one.

The mayor's son was content to wait, keeping the village safe, biding his time until he could find true friends and a true love.

One day, an evil sorceress came out of the wilds, looking for something to do. She had run out of mischief to cause in the forest, because, unbeknownst to her, the mayor's son had killed off all the bandits, one by one. Since the sorceress could not find anyone to harass in the wilds, she decided to wander into town. She put on her finest clothes and her finest jewels and made her face up as skillfully as a noble-born Orlesian. She looked beautiful, but it only went as deep as her skin. Underneath she was vain and cruel, but many folk could not see past her outward appearance until it was much too late.

The sorceress walked through town, enjoying the attention she drew from fawning merchants and farmers, awed mothers, lusty young men, jealous young women, and excited little girls and boys. Even the mayor came out to greet her personally and to welcome her to the town.

'You must meet my beloved son,' he said, eying her rings as he kissed her hand, hoping that this obviously rich noblewoman was yet unmarried. 'My son, my son, come and greet our guest!' the mayor called to his most beloved son.

The mayor's son approached the sorceress, but he did not bow or hold out his hand to take and kiss hers. He was clever, and he saw right through the sorceress's beautiful facade, down to her evil heart. 'You should all stay away from this woman,' he told the townsfolk, 'for she is a sorceress, and means us all ill.'

The sorceress made as if to speak, but the mayor's son gave her such a hard look that she felt as though she had been struck. His gaze so stunned her, she thought she might swoon. The sorceress had never felt love before, because she was incapable of it. But she knew of lust, and now she wanted this strong, handsome, clever young man under her thumb, and in her bed.

The sorceress recovered from her swoon quickly. She was crafty, and she did not want her fun with the town spoiled before it had begun. She decided she would make the mayor's son her own, one way or another. But the townspeople had heard the mayor's son's words, and were muttering about how strange this woman was to come into their little village in such finery, so she spoke again.

'But surely a young man as strong and handsome and clever as you can see that I am but a weak woman, that I have no weapon on me more dangerous than my jeweled brooch or my feathered hat pin,' she said in her most charming voice, looking around innocently at the now-suspicious townsfolk. The townsfolk were soothed by her dulcet tones, and they began to murmur about how beautiful and delicate a lady the sorceress was and how kind she was to grace them with her elegant presence.

'Your weapon is your silvered tongue and the fell magic you work with it,' the mayor's son said, his voice as clear and beautiful as a new silver bell. The townspeople stirred as if awakening from a dream when he spoke. They remembered how much they trusted the mayor's son, and how well they all liked him, so they backed away from the stranger. The sorceress cursed under her breath and fixed them all with a look of pure fury.

'Yes, I am a sorceress. And I will curse your village so that every well runs dry and all your crops rot in the field. All your women will be barren and your children will all take sick and die. Your tools and your weapons will shatter the first you try to use them and every road from this place will be beset by demons. None of you will leave this town alive.' Her once-sweet voice was now harsh and cutting, like the poisoned edge of a well-honed dagger.

The townsfolk all quailed and hid their faces, even the mayor. But the mayor's son faced her down, swiftly unsheathing his sword and lifting it to strike her. But magic crackled along the sorceress's skin like armor and she turned her own piercing gaze on him. 'As strong and skilled with that sword as you are, you cannot kill me, my dear,' she told him in her most arcane voice. 'I see now it was you who drove me here, killing all the bandits and taking away my pleasure. But if you come with me willingly, I will spare this village. There is nothing for you here. You have no friends and no love, and you will miss no one who will not be dead anyway if you refuse me.'

The sorceress was extremely crafty and had seen deep into the mayor's son's heart with her evil magic. She saw how he could find no one to befriend or love in the town, and that he stayed only because he worried about who would protect the villagers if he should leave. So she evilly turned his heart against him, and the mayor's son lowered his sword slowly.

'I will go with you on one condition,' he said, for he knew he could not refuse her and doom the villagers to certain death. But he was very clever, and he hoped he could use the witch's craftiness against her. He knew all sorceresses loved to make promises so that they could twist them. The mayor's son told her, 'You may have me by day, but let me come back at night to protect the village. For if I go with you, they will still surely fall to harm without my aid.' The villagers cried with grief and wailed to one another that the mayor's son would leave, but he stood unafraid before the sorceress.

'Very well, you may return to the village at night,' the sorceress said, cackling to herself as she thought of a delicious way to twist the promise. "Do we have a deal?"

'We do,' said the mayor's son, sheathing his sword. He hugged his father goodbye, then followed the sorceress back to her tower deep in the wilds.

Once there, the sorceress danced for him, flirted with him, and plied him with all kinds of aphrodisiacs and wines, trying to get the mayor's son to lust after her. She paraded in front of him in various gowns, then in various states of undress, but the mayor's son just ignored her. He watched out of the window, waiting for the sun to set and the stars to come out so he could return to protect the village and make sure everyone there was safe.

Finally, the sun set and the first star twinkled, so he stood to leave.

'Wait, my dear,' the sorceress said. 'Are you sure you want to leave me like this?' She was naked by now, wearing only several long strings of rich pearls and a lascivious smile.

The mayor's son shook his head, eyes flat. 'You promised,' he told her, and he turned to leave.

'Very well,' she spat, her voice growing sharp and angry. 'You made a clever deal, my dear, but I am craftier than you will ever know.' The mayor's son turned to look at her with hard eyes, and once again the sorceress felt his gaze hit her like a physical blow. She lusted for him anew, but still she cast her diabolical spell on him and twisting her promise, just as the mayor's son knew she would.

So it was that when he left her tower, he was transformed into great, white wolf. But the mayor's son was exceedingly clever, and he knew the sorceress would twist her promise and permit him to leave, only to turn him into some dangerous creature. He knew much about the crafty ways that sorceresses think.

In his cleverness, he knew no matter what terrible animal she chose, he would still be able to protect the village even better than he could as a man with just a sword. And, by spending all day with the sorceress, he could protect all the nearby villages from her, too, including his own. By day, he could keep the sorceress so enthralled trying to seduce him that she would trouble no one else. By night, he could roam the entire forest as a swift, white wolf, keeping everyone safe.

So it is, that to this day, the mayor's strong, handsome, clever son waits, watches, and protects everyone as best he knows how, whether as a man, or a wolf. And he knows that, one day, his true friends and his true love will find him and help him defeat the evil sorceress, once and for all."

Hawke began to ladle out a bowl of stew for Varric as she finished her tale. She glanced over at Fenris, half-afraid to see his reaction to her impromptu version of one of her father's bedtime stories. He sat with his back half-turned to her, both arms resting on his drawn up knees, but she couldn't see the expression on his face. She handed Varric his stew.

"I don't think I've ever heard that one, Hawke. I like it. It has a… dark quality about it. And the open ending is a nice touch. Haunting. Sticks in your audience's memory," Varric said appreciatively, before tucking into his stew. "Mmmm, and you really can cook. Maker, you'll make a fine housewife some day, cooking, telling bedtime stories, and killing ogres!"

Hawke smiled as she dished up another bowl of stew for Isabela. She handed it over, and the Rivaini woman began tearing pieces of bread into her bowl. "I liked the sorceress," she said. "Too many stories have old hags, or damsels in distress. There ought to be more sexy, deadly, devious women in tales."

Hawke laughed. "You _would_ side with the sorceress, Isabela. You just want all those jewels and gowns, and a handsome man to toy with all day." Isabela made an emphatic noise of agreement through a mouthful of stew-soaked bread.

Hawke ladled out two more bowls. "Fenris?" she called. He was still gazing at the stars. He didn't answer, so she asked, "Aren't you hungry, Fenris?"

"I… yes, thank you," he finally said after a long moment, still not looking at her. He didn't move, however, so Hawke placed a hunk of bread over the steaming bowl and picked up a bottle of wine she had scavenged. She stood, then walked around the campfire to place them on Fenris's bedroll next to him. She saw him turn his head slightly to glance at her, but he quickly returned his gaze back out into the darkness. She retreated across the fire to eat her own supper.

"So, elf, what did you think of the story?" Varric asked between bites. "Do they tell anything like it in Tevinter?"

There was a significant silence before Fenris finally answered. "No... I have never heard it. I doubt the magisters would much like that kind of story being told." He turned, and began to eat without looking at any of them.

Hawke struggled to keep her face calm, so she focused on her meal instead of on what Fenris himself might have thought of her story. _Maker, what made me tell that story to him, of all people. After the amulet I gave him last night, to tell that story and have the mayor's son turn into a wolf? Father always made it a hawk for Bethany and Carver. And what made me make the sorceress so slutty? Ugh, Maker, this is what I get for trying to one-up Isabela... __Fenris would have to be daft not to see what I was trying to say. _  


"This is a fine stew, Hawke," he said after a few moments. "And it was a fine story." He paused, waiting until she looked up at him, then flashed her a crooked smile. "Too fine, as always. Thank you."

Hawke stared mutely at him, her self-conscious, internal tirade interrupted. She managed a smile, then he looked back down to resume eating ravenously. "Glad you like it," she mumbled with an embarrassingly full mouth. She felt her cheeks flush with heat that did not come from the hot food.

The camp grew quiet as they everyone ate and drank their fill. Bowls, spoons and bottles were set aside with a clatter and everyone began patting their bellies, stretching, and yawning. Isabela was already snoring in a decidedly indelicate, unfeminine way, clutching her near-empty ale bottle to her ample bosom. Varric tucked Bianca away in his coat, then curled up with his back to the fire.

Fenris fed the campfire, banking it properly so it would burn well into the night with minimal tending. Hawke settled down in her own bedroll, laying, as she often did, on her side. She began chewing her lip as she noticed for the first time that Fenris's bedroll had been laid out directly across from hers, facing the same way. Then her heart sank as she realized someone would need to keep watch.

"Fenris? Do you want me to take first watch? I'm not that," a traitorous yawn broke up her offer "...er, tired."

He paused in the act of stacking extra firewood within easy reach. "I'm a light sleeper, Hawke. I will hear if anyone approaches. We are relatively safe here since there is only one direction for anyone to approach the camp. Rest, and do not worry."

Hawke nodded, letting the weight of exhaustion settle on her as she closed her eyes. She soon heard Fenris bedding down, so ventured a peek. His metal armor pieces were stacked nearby, but he was already under his blankets. Looking up at the stars again as he lay on his back, his hands were intertwined behind his head. She smiled, watching him watch the heavens, and soon drifted off to sleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris saw Hawke nod off. He pulled his eyes from the stars, though he deeply relished the opportunity to enjoy them in relative safety and comfort. As a slave and a fugitive, he rarely had the opportunity to star-gaze, but he always found tranquility and comfort in the vastness of the night sky. Despite this, he turned to lay on his side, facing Hawke.

He watched her sleep for a long time, wondering about her dreams, and the story she had told for him, before his own sleep and dreams finally claimed him.

* * *

They are in a soft, luxurious bed, crackling fire blazing in a nearby hearth. Fenris has her pinned and is thoroughly enjoying ravaging her mouth. Hawke writhes under him, her hands running all over his body, up his back and arms, into his hair, along the length of his ears. He groans into her mouth and she echos one of her own back to him. Suddenly, there is a small knock at the door and she breaks away, looking towards the foot of the bed.

Fenris turns his head as the door swings open. A small girl stands there dressed in a red nightgown, clutching a white wolf doll. She rubs at her eyes, her expression both sleepy and upset.

Hawke wriggles out from under him and sits up in bed. "What's wrong, poppet?" she asks in a soothing voice, holding out her arms. The girl runs forward, clambering up onto the end of the bed and crawls quickly into Hawke's outstretched arms.

Fenris turns to watch them as Hawke begins to stroke the child's hair, which is the same color as her own. The girl looks over at Fenris with mossy green eyes, and his own go wide at her delicate, angular features mingled with Hawke's own proud profile. Then she looks up at her mother.

"I had a dream that the sorcerer came to get me," the child whimpers. "I know it's just a story, but I thought I saw an old man standing in the shadows, so I ran out of my room."

Hawke kisses the girl's forehead. "Shhh, it's all right, my darling. You're safe now. We're both here." She reclines with the girl, propping the child up on a pillow between herself and Fenris. Hawke lays down on her side next to the child, facing him, giving him a fond and amused glance before turning consoling eyes back to their daughter.

"We killed the sorcerer a long, long time ago. He'll never hurt anyone ever again."

The girl nods, cuddling her stuffed wolf to her chin, then looks up at Fenris. "You've got your sword, don't you?" she asks him. Fenris looks past his shoulder, to where his sword leans against the bedpost. He looks back at the girl and nods wordlessly, before he, too, hesitantly settles down on his own pillow, now looking up at the child that looks so much like him, yet so like Hawke.

"Good," the child continues. "And you're the strongest, handsomest, most clever daddy ever. You'll protect us all, just like the wolf in the story." She gives him a familiar crooked smile before holding out the wolf doll to him.

Fenris somehow knows he is supposed to kiss it, that this is their nightly ritual, so he does. The child kisses the wolf too, then buries herself back against the pillow. Hawke's arm wraps tenderly over the girl, resting her hand on Fenris's shoulder. He lays very still for a few moments, looking back and forth from the drowsing child to a sleeping Hawke, before he finally places an arm around them both, his hand clutching protectively at Hawke's waist.


	18. In Over Their Heads

**A/N**: Sorry for the delay, but I had a devil of a time getting this chapter written. We are in the sort of boring lull of Act I, so I had a hard time getting started. Then, real life stuff kept interrupting whenever I sat down to write. Boo RL!

I was so disappointed that the FF traffic stats have been down for almost a week. It is really motivating to see how many people are reading, and not being able to view the traffic probably slowed me down a bit as well. So an extra thanks goes out to everyone who reviewed/alerted last week, for keeping me going!

FF .net has been having a lot of issues lately, so I am not sure if the alert for Chapter 17 even went out to everyone properly. I've started a twitter account (lotusflwrfanfic) to track my writing progress, if anyone is ever curious to check if I'm still working on it. The link is in my profile, so feel free to follow or to check my twitter feed if you're wondering what's taking so long. :)

Thanks so much for reading! As always, BioWare owns all.

* * *

Fenris awoke at dawn to the sight of Hawke's shapely backside leaning over the campfire.

_I must still be asleep… yet, I would rather have this haunt my dreams than Hadriana or Danarius._

Hawke glanced over her shoulder, smiling when she noticed Fenris's half-open eyes. "Good morning. I had hoped not to wake you — you seemed to be sleeping so peacefully," she whispered, before turning back to the fire.

Fenris sat halfway up, running a hand over his face, then through his dew-flecked hair. He looked around the campsite and could just make out the still-sleeping forms of Varric and Isabela. A light fog had settled over the coast, the rising sun not yet strong enough to burn it off. The mist gave the world a hazy, dreamy quality. Sounds seemed hushed, and Hawke's voice had not carried far, as if thick curtains were drawn around the two of them.

_Curtains? My dream. A large bed with curtains, and… something about Hawke, and a child. What was it? No, it's gone. The more I think about it, the faster it slips from my mind. Still, I feel rested… refreshed. Strange, I tend to sleep poorly out in the open air, under the night sky. It usually means I'm being hunted. Perhaps, with the others present, I no longer feel as though I need to run through the night. Still, I must not forget that I __**am**__ hunted. _

Fenris cast off his blankets, standing to shake out his long limbs. As he stretched, a scent from the fire wafted over to him on the morning's fitful breeze. He wrinkled up his face.

_Faughh!_ "Do I smell… _fish_?" he asked quietly, his voice belying not a trace of sleep.

Hawke looked over her shoulder again, nodding and smiling. She leaned to one side, cocking her head towards the spit she had fashioned over the fire, where three nicely-sized, silvery fish cooked. "I awoke early, and decided to try my luck," she said. _After the fire died down, and I could no longer watch you sleeping..._ She blushed. "I haven't fished in a while, but I suppose the fish don't know that. I caught all three, one after another; John… er, I mean, my father would have been so proud." She chewed her lip, looking away for a moment. Then she shrugged sheepishly. "I have no idea what kind of fish these even are. But they smell good. Should make a nice breakfast, no?" Fenris found himself looking away, shuffling his feet.

_Why did I lie to him about father fishing? _Hawke thought, chewing her bottom lip again._ Father hated to fish. He much preferred swimming to standing around and waiting for a pole to wiggle. I haven't thought about fishing with John in… Maker, almost a year. It seems so long ago. Not that we actually got that much fishing done, out along the forested river bank, or under the bridge. We __**went**__ fishing often enough that summer, but rarely got around to it…_

While Hawke was lost in her thoughts, Fenris tried to force his face to lose the disgusted expression he knew must be plastered there. "Ah, yes. Well… I am sure it will make a fine breakfast for you and the others. I will… decline, however. I am… not hungry." The empty knot in Fenris's belly remained silent, but even speaking of food made it squeeze soundlessly. He hoped that his stomach would remain quiet; he had gone without food many times, so there was no reason to dampen Hawke's spirits.

"You… don't like fish, do you?" she said, as if reading his mind. A small smile touched her lips as she ducked her head, trying to catch the expression on his lowered face.

Fenris fidgeted, glancing away. Then, realizing he probably looked childish, he calmed his features and looked directly at her, shrugging nonchalantly. "My tastes are of no consequence, Hawke. You and the others can enjoy the… fish." He tried not to shudder. "Besides, there are only three. One for each of you. I will be fine." He gave her a flat stare that he expected would end the conversation.

Hawke giggled quietly into her fist, trying not to disturb Varric or Isabela. Her eyes twinkled with laughter, and Fenris felt his face growing slightly hot. "What?" he finally demanded.

"It's just… Maker, you looked so much like my brother. He hated fish too, and he would squirm, just like that, at the dinner table, saying he wasn't hungry, or that he felt ill." She shook her head, eyes still dancing with amusement. "It's all right, Fenris. You don't have to like everything I cook. There is still some bread, and a few strips of dried meat."

She crept over to the crate near her bedroll, quietly retrieving a small, cloth-wrapped loaf and a few bundled strips of meat. She returned with them, and pressed them into his hands. She lingered close, leaning in to whisper, "Just don't tell Isabela. It's the last of the bread, and she would probably kill us both to get her hands on some." Hawke gave him a slow wink as she laid a finger to one side of her nose.

Fenris merely raised an eyebrow, figuring this must be some furtive, southern gesture that he was not familiar with, before nodding in silent thanks. He climbed onto a nearby low rock that faced the shore, and ate.

Soon, Varric and Isabela awoke, and everyone but Fenris began eating the roasted fish. The sun rose higher, dissipating the fog, and the morning grew warmer. Hawke wolfed down her breakfast and began sorting through the salvage, trying to gauge how much could actually be carried, yet still fetch a good profit.

Varric pulled off his boots, preparing to take a quick rinse in the sea. "This is, beyond a doubt, the most wretched place I've ever been," he said, as he poured vast quantities of sand and a few rocks out of his boots. "And I hate the sea. Dwarves are terrible swimmers. The sooner we get back to Kirkwall, the better." He removed his belt, peering at his reflection in the large, shiny buckle. As he rubbed at his stubbly chin, he complained, "Maker's breath, I should have brought a razor. I'm starting to look like Anders."

"I thought all dwarves had beards. Where's yours?" Fenris asked.

Varric huffed, dropping the belt onto his bedroll. "I misplaced it, along with my sense of dwarven pride and my gold-plated noble caste pin."

Fenris cocked his head at him. "I thought maybe it fell onto your chest," he replied, his voice deceptively serious. One mischievous eyebrow went up, the only hint of amusement that showed on his carefully schooled face.

"Oh-ho! The broody elf tells a joke!" Varric chuckled, staggering backwards and pressing a hand to his chest in feigned shock.

Fenris stiffened. "I don't _brood_."

"Friend, if your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you passed. They'd have broody babies in your honor."

Hawke laughed low in her throat, and Fenris pressed his lips together in a thin line. "You're a very odd dwarf," he finally said.

"And you thought I was joking about the pin," Varric tutted as he walked away.

"The water was warm enough when I bathed earlier, just mind you go down the coast a-ways. I would rather not know how much hair you have elsewhere," Hawke teased, calling after him.

Varric did not look back, though he made a rude gesture at them. Recognizing this decidedly _not_ furtive sign, Fenris's lips thinned again, but Hawke giggled as she turned back to sorting through crates emblazoned with seals from Orlais and Nevarra.

Isabela re-entered the camp, striding about barefoot and barelegged. "My leg feels so much better," she said, testing her weight on the ankle she had injured. "Did Varric leave to bathe? Maybe I should go take a bath too. The sea salt does _wonders_ for one's skin." She lowered her voice to a sultry purr and gave Fenris a heated look. "Care to join me, Fenris? Scrub my back, I'll scrub yours…"

"Uhm..." Fenris averted his eyes, shaking his head in dismay and disbelief at Isabela's continuing pursuit of him.

Hawke tsked without looking back, and Isabela shot her a look that went from jealous to thoughtful. "What about you, Hawke? Care for another dip… just us girls?" she asked. Hawke froze. Isabela looked back at Fenris, her expression going predatory as his posture stiffened. "All three of us, perhaps? Together at last?" she offered.

"Isabela!" Hawke scolded.

Isabela sighed. "You're both terrible teases, you know. But I _so_ enjoy a challenge." She sauntered off towards the coast, her small limp only slightly lessening the seductive sway of her hips, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone in the camp.

_That woman would try to tempt both Divines into a three-way_, Fenris thought, as he watched Isabela go. He quickly suppressed various scenarios that began to form in his mind, involving Hawke, the sea, or his large tub back at the mansion. "What business will you have us about today?" he asked, turning back to Hawke once Isabela had disappeared.

She had been watching Fenris while he watched Isabela. When he turned to address her, Hawke quickly resumed stuffing baubles into a canvas sack she had found. Her voice was quiet and reluctant when she spoke. "Javaris will be waiting for us at the Qunari compound, near the docks. We'll go see him and the Arishok, first thing. Where we go after that will depend on what the Arishok says, or if Javaris needs anything else."

Fenris furrowed his brow. "You will be meeting with the dwarf and the Arishok together then? In the Qunari's own camp?" he asked, surprised.

"That's what Javaris said," Hawke said with a sigh. She turned and gave Fenris a quizzical glance. "Weren't you listening when he expla… no, I would've tuned out his blathering too, if I could have." Fenris did not laugh, so she continued, returning to her sorting. She tried to force her voice to sound untroubled. "Should be fun. I've never met an Arishok before. There was a qunari in Lothering, so I was told, but he was gone before I got back from Ostagar. All of the shipwrecked qunari have been holed up in their compound near the docks for months. I imagine there will be dozens of them there, all quietly laughing up their sleeves at us for working with that jabbering dwarf. If qunari even wear sleeves." She was babbling, trying to shake off the feeling of jealousy that had suddenly taken over her when she saw Fenris watching Isabela.

Fenris frowned with concern, both for the gravity of the situation and Hawke's light treatment of it. "You need to be careful, Hawke. _The_ Arishok is not someone to be trifled with. If you do not treat him with the proper respect, he will not hesitate to kill you. The ways of the Qun are not your ways. You cannot begin to understand." He paced, and Hawke paused to watch him, her eyes narrowing as his voice became more grave.

"I can take care of myself, Fenris," she said, her own voice taking on an edge of warning. "I may not know as much about the Qunari as you, but I think I have enough sense not to stick my neck into a noose, and enough social grace not to piss anyone off. Which is more than…" She bit off her words, then abruptly turned back to her task, shoving items into the sack more vigorously than before. "Respect," she finally muttered, then gave a soft snort.

Fenris stopped pacing and stared at her back, his hands curling into fists. "It's not that I think you incapable, but the Arishok is _the_ military leader of the Qunari. Not just a leader of warriors. Not just one of your human nobles, given a commission due to his family or title. The duties he has to the Qun are too complex for me to explain. He is like a fist, no more and no less. He will not hesitate to come down on anything or anyone that stands in the way of his tasks, whatever they may be. More likely, he will direct one of his dozens of karasten to do it for him. Though you can be formidable, you are no match for him."

Hawke did not turn or acknowledge his advice. Her back was stiff, and her movements were quick and jerky. Even Fenris could tell by now that she was upset, though he did not know why.

_I give her a warning and she does not listen. Does she wish to die? Is this about the fish? I will never understand women._ _I cannot let her go to her death over some… fishy... breakfast._

"Very well, if you will not listen to reason, at least take me with you. Perhaps I can… be of assistance." He kept his voice neutral, careful not to antagonize her further.

There was silence for a long moment. Eventually, she responded with a curt, "Fine."

Fenris waited, expecting her to say more, but she slung the half-full sack over her shoulder and stomped away to check other crates scattered around the area. She did not look at him, but he could see that her face was stormy. He watched after her for a few moments, slightly bewildered, then made himself useful by beginning to strike camp.

* * *

"Wait, we're going _where_?" Isabela asked, eyes going wide. She stumbled slightly, hobbling on her weak leg. "Oh balls, my ankle! It hurts!" she wailed with sudden dramatics.

Hawke glanced back at her once, then twice, doing a double take as the dark-skinned woman flailed about. "What is it now?" she asked, though she kept walking.

"I should go back to my room at The Hanged Man," Isabela said, gritting her teeth in pain.

Hawke's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you twist it? You said it felt remarkably better. When we saw Kirkwall, you went running off ahead of us, down that dune, not ten minutes ago."

"I don't know, it just… hurts," Isabela wailed again, limping more emphatically, dropping back to where Fenris walked at the rear of the group.

"If you're going to ask me to carry you, _don't_," he warned her. She pouted.

Hawke sighed heavily. "All right, we'll drop by Anders's clinic and he can heal you. Then we'll go see the Arishok."

"No!" Isabela exclaimed, practically skipping up to where Hawke led the group. "It's fine, I just need to rest it. No need to trouble Anders. You all go ahead. I would rather… not. I'll just go to The Hanged Man, and… rest."

"An awkward time to run of, Isabela," Hawke said flatly. "Don't you want to be there, to be recognized for your heroics?"

"Aw, you know I'd never leave you," Isabela said unconvincingly. She added, in a low mutter, "And actually, I'd rather not be recognized by the Qunari…"

Varric chimed in, "How are you going to manage the stairs that go from the docks up to Lowtown on one foot, Rivaini? There are hundreds of them. Even you aren't that bouncy."

Isabela glanced down to where her ample chest undulated with her movements. "Funny. But, I'm sure I'll find someone willing to carry me." She shot a pointed look back at Fenris. "Not everyone finds me so unappealing."

Hawke refused to look back at his expression.

"If you think to make me jealous…" he said to Isabela darkly, before Hawke interrupted.

"Andraste's ever-loving ass, can't we go just one day...!" She threw her hands up into the air as she stalked faster towards the docks of Kirkwall, grumbling.

Varric chuckled, muttering under his breath, "Broody babies, indeed…"

* * *

Isabela made her swift exit as the four of them approached the Qunari compound, near the steps leading upwards from the Docks to the rest of Kirkwall. The morning was growing late, and the area bustled with sailors and dockworkers.

"Gotta go!" she said hastily, then took to the stairs with impressive speed for someone with a bad ankle. Fenris watched her go, filled with suspicion about the actual extent of her injury and the true reason she wanted to leave the group. Hawke glanced at him, then at Isabela, her expression darkening. She turned, then marched toward the compound.

As Isabela disappeared around a corner, Fenris shifted his gaze to the gated courtyard off the main thoroughfare, where the Viscount had allowed the shipwrecked qunari to stay, as a diplomatic courtesy. Hawke led the trio up to the gate, where a karashok stood guard. Fenris moved to Hawke's side, keeping one pace behind her, to her right. He put on his most hardened expression.

"Let me pass. I have business with the dwarf Javaris and your Arishok," Hawke told the karashok curtly.

_Good, she senses that she must not appear weak before them, _Fenris thought with approval. Then he hesitated, growing doubtful. _Or maybe she's still angry about the fish, or Isabela's abrupt departure… or both._

The karashok pointedly ran his eyes up and down Hawke, making no effort to hide that he was sizing her up and hoping to find her lacking. Then he looked to her right, where Fenris stood. He returned the qunari infantryman's piercing gaze with a fierce, hard look of his own, a look that would suit one serving as Hawke's honor guard.

The karashok spared the smallest of glances for Varric, then, satisfied with whatever he saw in the three of them, he looked back to Hawke. His voice was raspy, and he spoke slowly, unfamiliar with the common tongue. "The short mouth, yes. Enter, if you must, basra."

Hawke inclined her head, then strode forward, pushing the courtyard gates open. "Basra?" she asked, though she did not look at Fenris.

"It roughly means 'foreigner,'" he explained quietly, eyes wary as they entered the compound courtyard. The haughty inspection at the gate had not been a good sign, and the feeling of unease he had harbored since they had first encountered Javaris began to grow. Fenris followed Hawke closely, taking note of the many tents, crates of supplies and qunari warriors standing purposefully about. "It seems the Qunari aren't exactly in a hurry to return home," he said in a hushed voice, staying at her elbow.

Hawke kept her head held high, her features confident and proud. She was tanned from the day before, and it made her look more mature. Her gait was unhurried and controlled. Fenris glanced over at her, trying to keep a small smile of approval from playing about his lips.

_She has the spine for this, there is no doubt. Just look at her. She is… admirable. But I must take care, lest she fall unwittingly headlong into whatever this dwarf has gotten us involved with. I have vowed to protect her — I will not see her come to harm._

Many sets of pale, wary eyes followed their group's progress. Hawke angled across the courtyard and up a broad flight of steps that led to an area where a small dwarfish figure was waiting.

"Ah, my right hand arrives! Summon your Arishok… the bargain is done!" Javaris told one of the karasten loudly, when he noticed Hawke approaching. The karasten turned reluctantly, and went up another small flight of steps at the far end of this side of the courtyard. There was a pavilion at the very back, shaded by the tall buildings enclosing the courtyard.

Javaris was shuffling from foot to foot. He seemed impatient, nervous and relieved. "About time you showed, I've been here for hours," he told Hawke in a hissed aside. Their group stood in silence, watched closely by the remaining karasten.

At the top of the steps in front of them was a platform with a wide, gilded seat draped in a red banner. Each of the massive seat's corners bore a carving of a hideous head. They vaguely resembled dragons. Over a half-dozen qunari guarded the area, though most of them appeared to be lounging. But the taut readiness with which they held themselves made them seem even more dangerous than if they stood with weapons in hand.

After a long, silent wait, a huge qunari with the biggest, longest set of horns that Fenris had ever seen emerged from under the awning. He was the tallest man in the courtyard by far — he was practically a qunari and a half. His massive pauldrons only made him appear all the wider, and his horns and ears were bedecked with gold ornamentation. Fenris steeled himself, settling his mind firmly into familiar dispassionate calmness, even as he realized the Arishok's neck was about as thick as his own waist.

The Arishok sat in the enormous seat, filling most of it. Then he regarded them all silently, watching with hard, penetrating, deep-set eyes. Waiting.

Fenris glanced at Hawke, who looked somewhat paler now, her eyes widened, as she looked up at the Qunari leader. He was nearly twice her size and easily several times her weight. Her jaw was set firmly, but Fenris could read the tightness around her eyes and lips that revealed her concern.

_Beautiful… but she cannot know where to begin, faced for the first time with the Arishok, one of the triumvirate. I must help her._

Fenris took a small, graceful step forward, standing just slightly further back than Hawke, to establish her authority to the Arishok. He kept his eyes fixed on the giant. "Arishokost," he intoned in formal greeting. "Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." Peace, Arishok. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun.

The Arishok's pale eyes widened, his hard features slackening slightly in surprise. His deep voice was like thunder echoing through a cave, felt in the chest as much as heard by the ear. "The Qun from an _elf_? The madness of this… place," he said, shaking his huge head in disbelief.

Fenris was puzzled by his reaction, though he was careful to show no outward sign of discomfort. _He almost seems grateful for a distraction. Is he… bored?_

"Tell me that helped," Hawke said quietly, giving Fenris a worried look.

He glanced at her blankly, wishing he could give her a reassuring gesture or smile. "We shall see."

Javaris looked between the two of them, then strode two short paces out in front of their group. He craned his neck to look up at the Arishok and spoke directly to him, his words brisk. "Yes, well, that said, I am here to report that your hated Tal-Vashoth were felled one and all. Right?" He gave Hawke a cursory glance, turning around before she had barely inclined her head. "Yes, they were. So, I'm ready to open negotiations. For the explosive powder. As we agreed." He shifted from foot to foot again, almost dancing with anticipation.

The Arishok stared down at the dwarf for a long moment. Finally, he narrowed his eyes and rumbled, "No."

Fenris held still, keeping all traces of concern at the Arishok's blunt refusal hidden. He could hear Hawke's shallow, quick intake of breath when she heard the curt reply from the Arishok, but she too held herself well.

_Perhaps she understands now that I was right to caution her._

Only Javaris faltered. He made as if to speak, then, realizing what the Arishok had actually said, he turned to Hawke. "He's not getting it," he hissed, too loudly. "Make your chatty elf say something." He gestured with a furtive inclination of the head at Fenris. Fenris allowed himself to look at Hawke fully, awaiting her reply.

She regarded him, her face outwardly collected and cool, but her eyes dark with concern. She searched his eyes for a second, and he could see the barest hint of her brow crinkling with worry. "Any insight that would help?" she asked, her tone equal parts apologetic and expectant.

Fenris had a sudden, overwhelming desire to kiss her. He fidgeted for a moment, at a loss for words.

_Where did that come from? She just looks so concerned, that I want... No, I cannot kiss her, not in front of the Arishok and the Qunari, or the dwarves. I cannot kiss her at all, I have barely known her two weeks. _Hawke watched him, waiting patiently.

_Still, she relies on me. But what is making me think like this? One night camped across from her and I cannot think. I have been alone for too long. Being in her constant company is… distracting me. No, I need to focus. The Arishok awaits._

Shoving all the errant thoughts aside, Fenris recovered quickly, though a trace of confusion still laced his answer to Hawke's question. "Qunari... do not abandon a debt," he stalled, trying to find his calm center.

He faced the Arishok again. Hawke edged closer, staying firmly by his side. She watched him, exuding confidence. Confidence, Fenris realized, in him. Again, he swatted away unbidden feelings.

Keeping his gaze lowered a fraction, to indicate awareness that the Arishok was displeased, he said, "I humbly request clarification from the Arishok."

The Arishok's shrewd eyes noticed the effort. "I have a growing lack of disgust for you." He regarded Fenris, then Hawke. "The dwarf imagined the deal for the gaatlok. He invented a task to prove his worth, when he has none," he explained.

_It is as we feared. We must make amends. Hawke does not need the Arishok's displeasure._

Fenris spoke without hesitation, bowing his head in recognition of the error they had committed. He kept his voice firm, but contrite. "Then we have wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs. Would you have us kill this dwarf?" He lifted his eyes to the Arishok, who looked as though he was tempted by the offer.

Javaris did a double take. "Wait. What now?"

The Arishok glowered at the dwarf, but he waved a dismissive hand before addressing Hawke. "If you faced Tal-Vashoth, he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them." He gave Fenris another appraising look, then spoke to Hawke, his tone appreciative. "But you… you keep good company." He turned his pale eyes away from all of them. "Let the dwarf live. And leave." He kept his gaze to the side, a silent indication that he thought the matter closed.

Hawke gave Fenris a quick glance, then addressed the Arishok herself. "I did Javaris's dirty work. That debt stands." Her voice did not waver, though it sounded even sweeter and more feminine than usual to Fenris's ears, compared to the low voices of the Arishok, Javaris and himself. He took a deep breath, focusing once more on the present situation.

The Arishok's massive golden horns and earrings glinted in the sunlight as he turned his head to fix Javaris with narrowed eyes. "Does it, dwarf?"

"You said yourself, there was no bargain," Javaris said angrily. "I'm not getting a sodding thing out of this!"

The Arishok dropped his head, like a bull readying to charge, and Fenris could make out the barest hint of a growl from deep within the qunari's massive chest. The karasten who had previously reclined, quietly watching the proceedings with disinterested eyes, began to stand, weapons now in hand, casually awaiting the Arishok's spoken order.

Fenris again stood very still, trying to appear impassive to the hostile change in atmosphere in the courtyard. Hawke also remained calm, though her hand twitched when the qunari began to draw weapons, her glove catching slightly on Fenris's own. Fenris again had to suppress a sudden desire, this time to entwine his hand with hers.

_I am losing control. I cannot afford these distractions. Our daily lives are too dangerous for these… foolish notions, to say nothing of the seriousness of our current situation._ _This is unacceptable. _He savagely pushed down his feelings, growing angry with himself, and forced himself deep into implacable calm.

The Arishok rose deftly, surrounded now by his wary soldiers. He moved with an economy of motion and grace that seemed impossible, given his towering build. He spoke fiercely to Javaris. "This human did what you could not — something I did not expect of any outsider," he said, with a begrudging look of respect to Hawke. Then he narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. "And you have involved me. If you made a bargain for the Tal-Vashoth, that debt for their lives _will_ be honored." A long, thick finger was thrust in the direction of Javaris, but the dwarven merchant did not even flinch.

"Sod it all, take your coin. Take whatever," he said flatly, turning to glare at Hawke as he threw his hands up in resignation. Javaris chucked a coin purse at Varric's feet as he pushed roughly past him, then stomped away, muttering to himself. "Horn head oxen and mongrel dog lords. Suck your own powder and blow your head off. Sod it." Varric swiftly picked up the purse, chuckling softly to himself as he tucked it away.

As Javaris departed, the Arishok sat, turning his head once more to the side in dismissal. "You will leave as well, human. There's no more coin for you here," he said in a tired, disgusted voice, laden with an unexpressed sigh of resignation that piqued Hawke's interest.

One of the qunari guards came before the Arishok, standing at attention, as if awaiting orders._"_Kirkwall, Kirkwall, Kirkwall," the Arishok muttered, though whether to himself or the guard, Hawke didn't know. "This city exists only to defile itself. I hate this place and everyone in it, but that dwarf moreso."

Giving her curiosity its head, before common sense or Fenris could make her back down, she asked, "Is something wrong, Arishok?" She could see Fenris's gaze flick to her out of the corner of her eye, so she hastily added, "If I may be so bold as to enquire?"

The Arishok's attention shifted to her, though his eyes were narrowed. He waved away the guard, then glowered down fully. "Why do you bother me, human? The dwarf paid you. There is no more." He shook his head, clearly disappointed, sweeping a hand as if to take in the whole city beyond the courtyard walls. "Your kind think selfishness and want are normal. This city, all of it, leaves a bad taste." He looked away, and if Hawke had been less intimidated by his size, she would have laughed at the pout on his thick, bluish lips.

_Oh, you'll have to do much better than that to scare me off, Arishok. I dealt with Carver for eighteen years, and Fenris for… Maker, it hasn't even been two weeks! Seems like ages, since we've spent nearly all day, every day in each other's company… _She gritted her teeth, pushing thoughts of Fenris from the forefront of her mind, determined not to let her jealousy take over again.

_Despite what some broody elves may think, I believe I have the hang of this situation. Here, at least, is a man who respects assertiveness over brazen simpering._

She shrugged, allowing all of her pent-up frustration through to her posture and her face. She put on her best "I'm through suffering you being an ass" voice, the one she had eternally used on Carver, and had tried to use once or twice on Fenris. "You don't want to talk? We won't talk," she said. She turned her back on him, and took two steps.

"Hold," the Arishok called, almost hastily.

She paused, her lips curving up into a satisfied smile. _Good to know I've still got it… Fenris might be immune, but Maker keep you at his side, Carver, for being at least as difficult as a disgruntled Arishok._ Hawke pivoted slowly, careful to mask her self-satisfied smile, lest it give her away.

Fenris moved to stand close at her side again, and Hawke found, despite her annoyance with his wandering attention and his pedantic, pessimistic attitude, that she was glad he had accompanied her here.

_Too useful and handsome to send away, too sullen and overbearing to keep. Men. I will never understand why they must always offer unsolicited advice when women know what they're about. Or why they insist on chasing every skirt that passes… if what Isabela wears can even be called a skirt._

The Arishok ground his teeth for a moment before speaking. "Since we arrived, I have seen nothing but greed and weakness. Dwarves, humans, elves — just… festering. No order, no goal," he said, his tone a mixture of disgust and bewilderment, as if he wondered how they all managed to wipe themselves after using the privy. He gave her a disapproving look. "You are one of the few I have met with any ability. And yet this too was random, a result of selfishness. I cannot fathom how a mire like this can be justified." He shook his head ruefully. She remained stoic, imitating Fenris's usual demeanor. "You turned from me. Do you turn as easily from all this… chaos?" the Arishok asked, genuinely curious.

Hawke considered the question for a moment, wondering what he expected her to say. Finally, unable to fathom his motivations from their brief dealings thus far, she tried to empathize.

"My welcome to the city was not so different from yours," she said with a shrug.

"And yet you suffer it," the Arishok countered, still searching for an answer when she had yet to discover what the real question was.

_When in doubt, try the diplomatic route, _she figured. She held the massive qunari's pale gaze, and explained, "It's a bit of a mess, but I see it as… an opportunity to make a real difference." Though she could feel the eyes on her, Fenris, Varric, all the qunari, and, weightiest of all, the Arishok, she did not back down from her hedged, optimistic answer.

The Arishok's brow furrowed. He stood gracefully, gesturing at one of the soldiers watching Hawke from the steps leading up to the his dais. "Karasten are soldiers. The Qun made it so. They can never vary from that assigned path, never be other than they are meant to be." The Arishok pointed a finger upward, as a teacher or cleric might when giving instruction. "But, they are free to choose within that role. To accept and succeed, or deny and die. Glory is clear and defined." He looked deep into her eyes with sincere conviction. "You admit your city is… 'a bit of a mess,'" he said, his voice rich with irony at her understatement. "Could you — could not this entire city — benefit from the Qun's certainty? How else will you know when you have made 'a real difference?'"

Hawke found herself unperturbed, used to shrugging off doubt and dogma, after the endless Chantry lessons on the evils of magic and weakness of mages. She was more disturbed by the implications of his description of the Qun. "He's free to choose to obey?" she asked slowly. "That isn't… contradictory to you?"

"He chooses to be," the Arishok explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "As do we all, long before any of your meaningless freedoms are presented." He noticed her blank expression. "I am not the one to educate you. I did not intend to land here," he said, revulsion again in his voice when he spoke of Kirkwall. He continued quietly, as if to himself. "But this city may demand certainty." He sat down heavily, head bowed, elbows on his knees, as if the weight of the world rested upon his broad shoulders.

Hawke exchanged glances with Fenris. She could see that he was uncomfortable with the entire situation, though he hid it well, under his stony expression. She had watched him closely enough of late to tell that his mouth was drawn down at the corners, and his eyes were tightened slightly. Fenris gave her a small nod, then looked away hurriedly.

_Guess he approves. He was right to be concerned, however. Something is not right. We need answers. If the Arishok will tolerate me a little longer…_

"You're a long way from home," she said. The Arishok did not look up. "Why did you come?"

"To meet a demand of the Qun," he stated, tilting his head to look at her, though his back was still bowed under the weight of unfathomable duties.

"Which was…?" she prodded.

The Arishok sat up straight. "It is a matter only the Qunari understand. We remain until we fulfill the demand of the Qun," he explained, then added darkly, "Or until the demand changes."

Hawke caught onto his veiled meaning. "I don't think Kirkwall would do well under military rule," she warned. Fenris looked at her again, but she did not want to break eye contact with the Arishok to catch his expression.

The huge qunari raised one giant hand, making a swift cutting motion. "The rule of the Qun is _not_ military. It is discipline and order."

She shook her head, unconvinced. "How is that different?"

The Arishok shook his head too, massive horns waving. "To your limited understanding, it is not. You fear soldiers that arrive to remove your pitiable vices. But they do not control Qunari. The triumvirate divides and governs. One is nothing without the others."

Fenris stirred, as if to stop her, but she persisted. "Can you tell me about the other two parts? I wish to learn more about you."

"No."

She crossed her arms, giving the Arishok his first real taste of her own stubbornness. "Now you're just being difficult."

"I am no more equipped to explain than you are to understand," he told her. "Arishok, Arigena, Ariqun. Pillars of the Qunari, of the nation that must be. There is but one way to know these things, human." Again he glowered at the city from his throne, eyes cold and troubled beneath his deep brow. "And I have yet to decide if it must be done."

Hawke was troubled too, at the implications of his words, at the realization that she dealt with one of the three leaders of the Qunari people, and at the careful way in which he seemed to be weighing options. _No, not options. More like… duties. Perhaps I am in over my head. I should speak to Fenris about this._

She inclined her head to the Arishok. "Farewell."

He dismissed her with a polite wave of his hand. "Panahedan, human."

Hawke walked confidently out of the courtyard, careful not to rush, or look to Fenris or Varric for reassurance. _Maker, what is the military leader of the Qunari doing in Kirkwall, sitting around in the Docks? That wasn't so bad, but Fenris was right, I will need to conduct myself with care around the Arishok, and these qunari. The Arishok is… formidable. And this Qun business is utterly confusing. _

After they left the gate and its guard behind, rounding the corner, Hawke stopped and leaned tiredly against a wall. Fenris hung back, keeping his distance. She felt suddenly exposed with him no longer so close at her side. She sighed, irritated with herself. "Well, I don't know about you two, but I need a drink." She hesitated, watching Fenris's face as she asked, "Do you think we'll overtake Isabela on the stairs if we head up now?"

Fenris seemed to be pointedly not looking at her. Hawke frowned, wondering why he was so distracted, though fearing she knew exactly who was to blame.

Varric answered, "We won't know until we try. Anyway, I need to check to see if any messages have been delivered to my suite." He pulled Javaris's heavy purse from his belt, jingling it. "And I need to send a few of my own. I've got a few people in the Dwarven Merchants Guild who now owe me some sovereigns — I knew Javaris was off on another wild nug chase." He nearly cackled with glee.

* * *

Fenris waited with Varric, in his suite at The Hanged Man, for Hawke and Bethany. Hawke had stopped by her uncle's house, to fetch her sister and assure her mother that she hadn't died. Fenris poured two glasses of wine, out of habit. As he reached to push one cup towards Hawke's usual seat at the table, he hesitated.

_This is getting entirely too familiar. Familiarity leads to complacency. And complacency leads me back into Danarius's grasp. I seem unable to control myself around Hawke. I nearly made a fool out of myself in front of __the__ Arishok. Reckless. This is utterly unacceptable._

He left both cups sitting in front of him, setting the wine bottle down with a heavy thump. Varric glanced up from the message he was reading at the sound. Fenris took a long drink, feeling slightly odd to be sitting alone with the dwarf. He had rarely, if ever, interacted with Varric without Hawke around.

"She isn't going to like this," Varric said with a sigh, putting the letter down on the table.

Fenris pointedly did not look at it. "Oh?" he asked, before taking another drink. Then, still wanting to avoid examining the written missive, he stared out of the open doorway, as if looking for someone.

Varric noticed his apparent eagerness for Hawke's arrival. "Keep your pants on, elf, it's only been twenty minutes. She'll be here soon. I'm sure she's dying to see you again, too."

Fenris gritted his teeth, then leveled Varric with a stare. "What won't _she_ like, exactly?"

Varric tapped the letter with a finger. "Rumor has it that there's a young lady named Macha asking around Hightown about her missing brother. Trouble is, he's a templar. Should be good coin in helping a templar's sister but… well, you know Hawke."

Fenris relaxed back in his chair, his posture easy and languid. "Yes, I see your point." He went to take another sip of wine, then frowned into his empty cup, surprised that he had finished it so swiftly.

_Templars. As if I needed another reminder why these… thoughts about Hawke are pointless. She despises them, whereas I admire their willingness to devote their lives to watching mages. I do not know which of us is more foolish, her for her ridiculous optimism, or me for allowing it to infect my thoughts towards her._

"Maybe you can talk her into it, elf. She'd listen to you. Hell, she practically hangs on your every word," Varric said.

Fenris set the empty cup down and gave him a sharp look. "Do not try to manipulate me, dwarf."

Varric raised his hands in protest. "Who's trying to manipulate you?"

Fenris stood abruptly, and began to pace up and down the table. "All of you. You, Isabela, that Dalish… witch, Bethany, Aveline, _Anders_," he said the name with a sneer. "And especially Hawke. Always asking questions, looking for information, wanting me to do things, trying to sway me, to change my mind."

Varric watched him pace, his face growing a little surprised at Fenris's explosive anger, and the vehemence with which he spoke. "Whoa, slow down there, broody," he said.

Fenris glanced back, eyes narrowed, his dark brows knit together and his mouth a flat line of displeasure. "You see? Even now you ridicule me, wanting to shame me into, what, a _pleasant_ drinking companion? You want a tall, elvish friend to help you reach things on high shelves, do you, dwarf?" Varric's faced darkened at the jibe. "And no doubt, you want to divert me from questioning this…" he waved his hand in the air for a second, unable to think of a word, "… _this._ All of this." He continued to pace, adding to himself in a low mutter, "What am I doing here? I can't… fit in. Nor should I try. I do not belong in this… band of misfits."

Varric finally chuckled, amused by Fenris's ironic characterization of himself and Hawke's motley crew. Fenris stopped at the sound, fixing him with glare. Varric waved him off, a smile still on his face. "It might be different where you come from, elf, but around here, it's considered polite to ask people about themselves. And to share things about yourself with them," he explained. Fenris's face remained dark, so Varric sighed. "Sure we're all different, but nobody's trying to change you. They're just… feeling you out. Getting to know you." Then he paused, and added, "Well, Blondie might be trying to change you. But he wants everyone to get behind his 'just' cause." Varric waggled his fingers in the air as he spoke, rolling his eyes. "And Rivaini? Well, she's pretty forthright about what she wants. No subtle manipulation there."

Fenris's angered expression was fading, so Varric continued. "Everyone's got an agenda. Even you, elf. You can't change that about the world, so accept it. You know how to take care of yourself, don't you? So what are you worried about?" That gave Fenris pause. "You work well with Hawke, with all of us. Most of the time, anyway. Besides, we've almost got enough coin to head into the Deep Roads. Should be one hell of a ride, and we could use that ridiculously big sword of yours. Let that be enough for now."

Fenris stood motionless as he considered Varric's words. _I am uncomfortable because I am outside my element. The constant presence of the others… of Hawke… I just need distance. Perspective. If they start to get too close, the dwarf is right; I know how to push people away. I should treat this like what it is, a mercenary position. I am a hired sword, though I will give Hawke what additional protection I can, like with the Qunari. I owe her that much — but nothing more. Nothing can come of this… foolishness anyway. _Fenris sat back down and began to drink the second cup of wine. A few short moments later, Hawke and Bethany finally arrived.

"Hawke! We were just talking about you," Varric told her jovially, as she led Bethany into the room. "How'd you like to help a distraught sister find her lost brother? Or have another templar in your network? Or expose some seedy underbelly in the Templar order? Because I've got a job that's potentially all three."

Hawke frowned as she sat, but she nodded for Varric to continue. As he explained, she glanced at Fenris, but he kept his eyes firmly on his cup of wine.

* * *

**21 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Andraste's blood, I don't think I can handle my days getting any more interesting. You'd think that by starting my morning with meeting the Arishok, blighted military leader of the entire Qunari, that the rest of the day couldn't possibly get any more exciting. But the Maker has a sense of humor. I suppose I should start at the beginning.

The meeting with Javaris and the Arishok went about as Fenris had said. Javaris had decided for himself that eliminating the Tal-Vashoth would please the Arishok and persuade him to negotiate for the gaatlok. However, as Fenris had warned me, the Arishok did not care a fig, and refused Javaris once again. It wasn't pretty. Fenris handled the entire conversation for me, thankfully, as I had not realized who the Arishok truly was to the Qunari until the end of our long conversation. Apparently, Fenris knows the Qun and speaks Qunari, of all things. That makes, what, three languages? Such a skilled tongue… it is a shame he does not know as much about women. But that is neither here nor there.

I managed to get payment from Javaris, with a little prodding from the Arishok. Have I mentioned how huge that man is? His bicep alone is probably as thick as my waist, and he has horns like a prized, blue-ribbon ox. His voice is even deeper than Fenris's. Listening to the two of them speak was like finding myself caught in rockslide during an earthquake in a thunderstorm, all rumbly grumbly. The Arishok seemed to approve of Fenris, though, and through him, me. I will have to remember to bring him with me, should I ever find myself dealing with the Qunari again, though that is hardly likely.

It was odd, being the only woman around. Why are there no qunari women there, anyway? I have so many questions for Fenris. Perhaps I will ask him later.

I spoke with the Arishok after Javaris left, about the Qun, and his reasons for staying in Kirkwall. The stories all say they were shipwrecked here, during another bad storm that hit many months ago. The same one that wrecked Isabela, probably. But the Arishok made it sound as if they had come here on a mission, and that he could not leave until 'a demand of the Qun' was met. He declined to tell me what it was, despite my asking.

He seems to hate it here, and he is thoroughly disgusted with Kirkwall. He acts as though he wants to raze it to the ground, or to convert us all, more likely. But he cannot…? Which is absurd, because if he really is the military leader of the Qunari, what is stopping him? Not that I want him to, but Maker's breath, the Arishok is massive enough that he could probably take on most of the City Guard single-handedly (no offense to Aveline.)

Fenris is right; the Qun and the qunari are quite different from anything I have ever encountered before. I know this city is not perfect, but I hardly think it would be much improved with qunari running the show. Let us hope that the Arishok fulfills his demand, before he finds some reason to change his mission.

After that puzzling encounter, Varric wanted me to go look into a disappeared templar, of all things. He made a fairly convincing argument, so we went to Hightown to meet with Macha, the templar's sister. She was sweet, for having a templar for a brother. Then again, I hope people did not judge me because of my relation to Carver. Brothers… men, in general.

She was beside herself with worry, so I agreed to help. She also had some interesting things to say about Knight-Commander Meredith, though she hushed up quick. She seemed afraid the woman would drop out of the sky if you spoke her name. I am hardly surprised though — I have heard the rumors before, it just seems more likely that they are true, if even a templar's sister fears her. Besides, I cannot imagine a Knight-Commander who would trust mages.

Macha sent us to talk with her brother Keran's templar-recruit friends. That meant a trip to the Gallows, so I sent Bethany on home. I had intended to take Isabela with us from the beginning, but the woman had made herself scarce, not that I minded.

The recruits at the Gallows told us that Keran and another recruit, Wilmod, had been missing for some time, and that the templars had hushed the whole thing up. They were convinced the Knight-Commander was making recruits go through some nefarious ritual (more nefarious than becoming actual templars?) or killing ones who didn't follow her heartless path of righteousness, or something equally as juicy.

One of the recruits scoffed at the very idea, and mentioned she had seen Wilmod return. So we set off in search of him, and the Knight-Captain who had followed him and ordered the recruits to silence. I considered it best not to bring any of my apostates with us, so Fenris, Varric and I headed out towards the Wounded Coast (where we had just returned from this morning, of all the blighted places.)

We caught up with Wilmod and Knight-Captain Cullen not too far outside of the city, and the Knight-Captain was slapping the lad about. As we approached, he even drew his sword on the recruit. I found it rather telling, how the templars treat one another, considering how they treat the mages, but my joke died on my lips when Wilmod turned into an abomination and summoned several demons from out of thin air. If random people are going to start turning into abominations, and not just mages, this city is going to get very messy, very fast.

It was a very difficult fight, but it was good that I did not bring any of the mages. The last thing we needed was Anders going all Justice-y on Knight-Captain Cullen, or Bethany or Merrill forced into using spells in front of him.

The Knight-Captain was horrified and shaken by Wilmod's sudden turning, and indicated that blood magic must be behind it. That set Fenris off into an even more sullen mood, and I knew he would have started lecturing me if I refused to assist further. Still, I was curious anyway, having seen some of what went on with templars and their recruits. So I offered the Knight-Captain our assistance, and he bade us go to The Blooming Rose, of all places, and speak to the 'young ladies' there to see if any of them knew what Keran and Wilmod were up to before they disappeared. As if none of us could guess. Apparently their sainted recruits enjoy a bit of righteous rumpy-pumpy when they aren't swigging lyrium or learning to harass initiates… I'm beginning to think men are swine, all of them.

Speaking of swine, I ran into Uncle Gamlen there. I don't even want to think about what he was there for… Maker, it's no wonder he blew through Grandfather's fortune; anyone with half their wits must charge ten times the normal rate just to stomach his company. He looked at Fenris, Varric and me with this knowing smirk, and told me not to tell Mother about him and he would keep silent about me. Vile!

I convinced once of the girls to take a look at the brothel books. I couldn't help but notice that Isabela's name was on the top page… and then I saw the woman herself, coming down the steps from one of the upstairs rooms. Maybe now that she's worked off some of her energy, she'll stop draping herself all over Fenris…

She saw us and came over as Viveka, the brothel… concierge?… looked through her book for our two recruits. They apparently had spent a lot of time with Idunna, "The Exotic Wonder of the East." Hardly any wonder to it, for Idunna, "The Sneaky Bitch of the Brothel" turned out to be a blood mage. I suppose it is comforting to know that templars can't sense mages from even that close.

She entranced the others and nearly convinced me to slit my own throat, before I finally broke free of her spell and gutted her. I didn't intend to kill her… my hand sort of slipped. Varric was particularly shaken up, for he had found himself compelled into arguing with me to leave Idunna alone. As a dwarf, I suspect he was rattled that blood magic could have such a profound effect even on him.

We found some papers from someone named Tarohne who had instructed Idunna to seduce and send likely candidates to a place hidden away in the sewers. Even though the entire thing was his idea to begin with, Varric decided he wanted nothing more to do with the job, so he returned to The Hanged Man. Since we were going to Darktown anyway, I decided to bring Anders along, since we were definitely dealing with powerful blood magic. I also had hoped seeing maleficars running amok would give him a little perspective, get him to back off on the Chantry and Templars, just a bit. Me and my foolish optimism…

We fought through dozens of shades, demons and abominations to find Keran. Tarohne and her cohorts seemed to be insane, trying to pull off some scheme using blood magic and 'vessels' like Wilmod and Keran to summon abominations into unwilling hosts. They wanted to use this technique to sow chaos and destruction in the templar ranks and the population at large, undermining the Knight-Commander. I had no idea such a thing could be done, but Wilmod was evidence that they could indeed turn someone who was not a mage.

Fenris was predictably angry. Anders was surprisingly incensed and dismayed that like-minded apostates had yet again made a deal with a demon… I guess he feels his own agreement with Justice is fundamentally different? Isabela was all eyes for Keran, who hovered shirtless in the air, held by magic.

It was a rough fight, taking down so many blood mages, demons and abominations all at once. I do not even wish to think about how many victims they probably killed to fuel their dark preparations. The Veil must have been incredibly thin to allow that many demons to be summoned. I am glad I didn't take Bethany.

Keran awoke from a stupor once Tarohne was dead. Fenris suspected he too was harboring a demon, but Anders was able to test him and seemed confident that Keran was himself, no demons attached.

I must admit that the man was remarkably attractive, for a templar. All that heavy armor and training for knighthood left him in incredible shape. Why he had gone to the brothel in the first place, I will never understand. It would have saved him a world of trouble, to just sweet-talk pretty ladies at The Hanged Man. I'm a pretty lady at The Hanged Man, but no one ever sweet talks me. Men are bastards. But I digress.

We sent him back to his sister, since I felt confident in Anders's ability to tell if he was possessed. Fenris seems very unhappy with my decision, but I'm not going to kill a templar and try to explain it to Knight-Captain Cullen, just to suit his whims. Let the templars deal with it.

Tomorrow, I will have to go report back to Cullen and let him know about the blood mages' plan. Anders wants me to 'play down the blood magic angle,' but how in Andraste's name am I supposed to do that? I'll do what I can, but I wish to be done with the whole matter as quickly and neatly as possible. Templars… what was Varric thinking?

That reminds me. Tomorrow I need to see about visiting the Dalish, to find out how the lad Feynriel is doing. I also had a letter waiting at home from Chanter Taletha, who minds the Chanter's Board, and who probably saw me take the Prince's notice. Prince Vael received word that some of the Flint mercenaries are camping out near Sundermount, so it seems I can catch two fish with one hook.

I'll need to rest up tonight. Apparently, things will remain quite busy for me. I should be able to afford partnering on the expedition soon. Everything is happening so fast… but I suppose it beats sneaking crates around in the dark for Athenril.

* * *

Hawke absentmindedly fanned at her journal, watching Isabela at the other end of their table in the tavern common room. Varric had retired early, still grumbling about blood magic.

"And so I said… 'apostate prostitutes? apostitutes!'" Isabela laughed raucously, slapping her hand on her exposed thigh, before throwing back another drink.

The fawning poet who was wooing her watched her toss her head back, eyes dreamy. "You're so witty, and so very pretty. If I could get you a gift, I'd give you a kitty," he warbled in a reedy voice, strumming off-key on a beat up lute.

Isabela ignored him, pouring herself another drink. "You should have seen that templar. Oooh, Maker. He was shirtless, with such bulging, rippling muscles. So young, and energetic, like a puppy. He had the bluest eyes… and the tightest buttocks." She licked her lips, then looked at the scrawny, doe-eyed poet. "Such a shame," she sighed, "that writing poetry and playing the lute does naught for the physique."

The poet's face fell, and he began to pluck out a mournful tune on his lute, made all the more sad by the fact that it was horribly out of tune. "My dear Isabela wounds me with her tongue, a fleshy knife, plunging into… my… lung," he finished quickly, beaming proudly as he found an appropriate rhyme.

Hawke chuckled in spite of herself, feeling a bit better having vented in writing. She closed her journal, tucking it away. She turned from watching the impromptu serenade to regard Fenris. He was sitting hunched over his cup, brooding more than usual.

Hawke pursed her lips, then smoothed her face to innocence. "Isabela is insatiable. First you, then the Blooming Rose, then poor Keran, and now this poet." Fenris did not look up. Hawke sighed dreamily, "Though, I'd be the first to admit Keran was quite stunning. Even all that Templar armor might not be enough to keep her from pawing him to death."

_She finds templars to her liking well enough, when faced with them defenseless and shirtless. I could take on any of those meaty, hulking humans. A warrior doesn't need to be built like a draft horse. To fight who? Mages? You need dexterity, finesse, reach… I have those things. What do they have? Shields? A hundred pounds of metal armor? A crippling lyrium addiction? _Fenris ground his teeth, then decided firmly that he should not and did not care what Hawke thought of the likely demon-riddled templar recruit's looks.

He shifted in his seat, his face as dark as a storm cloud. Hawke frowned.

"Don't tell me you're jealous? What, do you really miss Isabela fawning over you?" she asked, trying to keep her tone teasing and unconcerned.

Fenris looked away, not meeting her eyes, then resumed examining his wine cup.

Hawke's brow furrowed. _Maker, he… he really is jealous. All this time, I thought he despised her attentions, and that it was just my wild imagination getting away from me. That it was just I who was jealous. But… no. _

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she was horrified to feel a hot stinging in her eyes. _Andraste's ass, but I feel like such a fool._ She stood up suddenly.

"I'm… going home," she said in a rough voice, turning to keep her face hidden as she hastily left.

Fenris forced himself not to watch her go, and took a slow, unconcerned sip of wine as the tavern door banged shut behind her.

Anders walked up to the table, carrying a tankard of ale, staring after Hawke with a puzzled look on his face. "Did Marian leave? Damn, I wanted to talk to her." He hesitantly sat in the chair across from Fenris, glancing forlornly at the seat at the head of the table that Hawke had just vacated.

"She seemed ready to relax the night away before I went to get a drink. Did she say anything?" he asked. Fenris shrugged, still firmly intent on keeping his distance from the situation. Anders narrowed his eyes, "Did you say something to her? Aren't you ever going to stop harping on the mages here?"

Fenris glared at Anders, fixing him with a hard stare. "No."

Anders rolled his eyes. "They aren't what you saw in Tevinter," he said, voice both angry and defensive.

"The moment they are free, mages will make themselves magisters," Fenris growled.

Anders looked at him with bewilderment. "They're slaves! You should want to help them!"

"I don't." Fenris looked away, ending the conversation.

_I cannot believe Hawke trusts Anders enough to let that templar walk free. She always sides with him against me. I am a fool if I think I could be more to her than just a sword. I will be glad to discharge my debt to her once we finish the Deep Roads expedition. At least I should not find it difficult to keep them all at arm's reach. It will be far easier than trying to fit in. I am not cut out for all this… companionship._

Fenris drained his cup. He stood wordlessly, then left The Hanged Man as hastily as Hawke had. He strode back to his mansion, grimly focused on his desire to take a bath and sleep, alone and undisturbed.


	19. Tough as Leather, Soft as Silk

**A/N: **A short one this time, because I've been busy with my little niece and nephew here on spring break for Easter. Writing with kids underfoot is ridiculously hard, and I can't play DA2 in front of them!

BioWare owns all. (But I wish they had included sexier outfits for both Fenris and female Hawke.)

* * *

**22 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Thank the Maker for a fairly smooth day. I broke the news to Knight-Captain Cullen about Tarohne's plot as best I could. Anders came with me — he was waiting outside when I left the house this morning. He was disappointed that I left without saying good night yesterday, so he wanted to make sure I was all right. I had honestly forgotten that he wanted to catch up with me, and that I had promised him we would, once I finished my journal entry. Instead, I disappeared without saying a word to him. I told him to blame Fenris, but apparently he already had. Andraste's blood, was I that transparent or was Fenris? I didn't want to ask — I wish I could forget the whole thing.

I had intended to talk to Anders last night about taking Bethany on more outings, since she is so cooped up at home. She has remarked that it gets lonely, her only intelligent company being Ruff or Mother. She seems to be losing interest in Anders, and I think his attention to her has been slipping too, between his work at the clinic and helping me occasionally. It appears they only seek each other out at my prodding, but alas, I have not had the time to push them together lately. If only he would come by more often to see her, instead of going to The Hanged Man on the rare night he goes out at all.

I also need to test the waters about whether or not he wants to accompany Varric and me to the Deep Roads… he has said before how much he hated it down there when he was with the Grey Wardens, but his magic would be extremely useful — especially the healing.

Maker, I have not even thought to ask Varric how many of us can go on the expedition! Or thought about whether or not Bethany would be safer at home, or with me in the quite literally blighted Deep Roads. I need to have several conversations with people… talk and fight, fight and talk. Seems to be all I am good for.

Anyway, I apologized to Anders for my rudeness in departing so abruptly, and he waved it off with unusual good grace. It is a shame Justice makes him so touchy, and keeps him focused on the plight of mages; he can be devilishly sweet and charming otherwise. When I told him that I would be going to the Gallows to speak with the Knight-Captain, he insisted on accompanying me, and swore that he could keep Justice under control for my sake. Though I had some reservations, I really was not in a mood to argue. Besides, he was in a good humor… which was a nice change from my usual company.

The meeting with Cullen went better than I expected. Of course, I had to talk both him and Keran down off their moral high horses about mages not being people and templars needing to bludgeon them into submission on behalf of all that is good and decent. You know, the usual. Whether or not it sinks in through all that thick armor and Chantry zealotry… that is in the Maker's hands. Andraste knows, at least I tried.

Cullen initially wanted to throw poor Keran out of the order on suspicion of demonic possession, but I convinced him that Keran was fine — not sure if I did him any favors, really. But he and his sister are both so sweet, and they seemed terribly distraught at the idea of Keran losing his commission over one small incident. Now he will retain his position, though he will be watched for the next ten years (because, I suppose, demons have busy schedules and can only wait so long…?) Maybe I am too optimistic, but perhaps this unfortunate ordeal will make Keran a better templar in the future. Being unfairly accused and nearly given the proverbial axe because of things beyond his control may just help him empathize more with the mages under his care.

Cullen was suspicious of the tests we had performed on Keran to confirm he was demonless, but he did not pry. He seemed grateful and relieved that we had foiled the blood mages' plot, and he was content to leave it at that.

I left with the Knight-Captain's deep gratitude, some coin, an embrace from both Macha and Keran (ooh, eat your heart out, Isabela,) and Anders in tow and in full control of his faculties. Both a templar and an apostate pleased with me in one fell swoop. Wonders never cease.

We collected Merrill and Varric when we got back to Kirkwall proper. It was a rather grey day, which was welcome, as it was not too hot for the long walk to Sundermount. Speaking of grey, I got Anders to show me the Grey Warden dead-drop in Lowtown before we headed out, and I dropped off the letters intended for Weisshaupt. I asked him if he wanted to include a letter of resignation, but he didn't think that was very funny. I suppose he dislikes being a Warden almost as much as he dislikes being an apostate. What about his life _does_ he enjoy, I wonder?

It was a quiet, uneventful walk out to Sundermount. Varric told us stories of many ridiculous shots he had made over the years with Bianca, but other than that, there was no bullshit for a change. No incessant arguing, lectures, or obscene flirting at all! Rather nice, I must say.

Our reception at the Dalish camp was a mixed one. Merrill was initially pleased to return to her clan for a visit, but several of the Dalish gave her the cold shoulder. She stayed close to me and Varric after that, and looked so uncomfortable that I kept our visit short. Feynriel seemed well enough, though he complained that there hadn't been much progress with controlling his nightmares. He didn't seem to be entirely fitting in with the rest of the Dalish. Still, Keeper Marethari was very pleased to have the boy. She was pleased to see Merrill as well, but by then Merrill wanted to leave, so we did not linger.

I found the camp of Flint mercenaries, just as Prince Vael's message had said, though they were surprisingly close to the Dalish camp . I suppose the Dalish had been giving them a wide berth, trying not to start trouble and hoping they would just move on. We took care of that lot of Flint's 'finest' in short order.

The letter from Chanter Taletha reported one last company of mercenaries that skulk around the docks at night, so we will be going there tomorrow. Once we have eradicated the last of them, I will go to the Chantry to inform the prince.

It is a little ridiculous, I know, but I am quite anticipating meeting Prince Sebastian Vael to deliver the news that his family has been avenged. It is a tragic sequence of events that led me to him, but I cannot help but feel that something more may come of this than just a pat on the head and a purse of silver and gold.

His presence has been haunting me, and it is making me think back to my few short months with John. Now that I've realized Fenris's interests lie elsewhere, it's given me pause to consider what sort of future I am to have. If Lothering had not been destroyed by the Darkspawn, I would likely be married by now — the Blight and coming to Kirkwall has changed everything. I am quite young, but still, I cannot keep adventuring forever. Yet, I also have a difficult time imagining myself running a household, a farm, an estate... or, Andraste preserve me, raising children!

I suppose I should not concern myself with it overmuch. If Mother is successful in petitioning the Viscount, I will have to start afresh in society and work my way into a whole new circle of acquaintances. But will I find anyone in the nobility who I can stomach, let alone like well enough to forge a relationship? To marry? So far, the nobles all seem so haughty and foolish. No offense to Mother, but my own upbringing was very different to hers was as a noble of Kirkwall, and the men here seem accustomed to something other than what I am. So many of the women here are silly, useless creatures. Even Mother could not bear to marry the comte my grandparents picked out for her. If she ran away with Father, an apostate, rather than make a match, then who in Kirkwall would ever suit me?

No, the more I think on it, the more certain I am that tying myself down at this point would be futile. Which is just as well, since no one seems willing to tie me down, mores the pity.

Although… a handsome prince falling madly in love with me would be welcome, no matter what the circumstances. A little foolish, but I can dream, can't I? Until I actually speak with Prince Vael, at least.

Perhaps I should shake things up. Spruce myself up a bit? Nothing cheers the spirit like new things. And I can't very well go into the Deep Roads wearing the same armor I've worn since working with Athenril. Yes, perhaps some shopping would be just the thing.

* * *

"So… Marian. Where's your friend Fenris?" Anders asked casually. "I didn't see him yesterday." He paused. "Is he meeting us here? Do we _have_ to go get him?"

Hawke's shoulders stiffened slightly. "No."

She, Bethany and Anders walked through the Hightown market, where Hawke was browsing the stalls and shops for better equipment. It was bustling with mid-morning shoppers.

Anders's eyebrows went up. "Oh? Not that I'm complaining, but I had thought you two... inseparable." Bethany gave Anders a look of warning.

Hawke did not respond, though her lips pressed into a flat line.

"Is he coming into the Deep Roads with us? I might change my mind about going, if he'll be along," Anders joked. "Dark and gloomy enough down there without him adding to it."

Bethany giggled, then tutted, "Oh, Anders. You're terrible! Leave poor Fenris alone. He had a hard life in Tevinter." She nudged him, and he winced playfully. "He's been pleasant enough to me — he isn't so bad."

Anders good humor fell away, and he bristled. "Not so bad? First Hawke, and now you? We are talking about the same man? The one who plunges his fist into people to kill them? And believes all mages should be drowned at birth?" He gave Bethany an incredulous look, and she bit at her lip, glancing away.

"He never said that," Hawke said quietly, without looking at either of them. "He just mistrusts magic, and thinks that it will eventually corrupt even the best-intentioned mage." She stopped in front of a weapons stall, casting a critical eye over the wares. She picked up a long, curved blade with an ornate handle, testing the heft of it in her hand.

Anders frowned. "It's attitudes like that which led to the Circle in the first place. Judging people because of how they were born, instead of what they actually do. It is reprehensible," he said rather loudly. Hawke shushed him and Bethany fidgeted uncomfortably, looking around.

"He is what the magisters made him," Hawke countered. "He's paranoid, yes, but small wonder after the abuses he saw — and suffered — in the Imperium. The best we can do is prove him wrong, not lecture him, Anders. After all he has been through, he must be shown, not told." She sighed tiredly, replacing the ornate dagger and picking up a shorter, sturdier one. She thrust it experimentally. "Besides, I doubt he will hang around after the expedition. Earning his trust seems pointless." She replaced the dagger and walked away from the stall.

Bethany gave her sister a consoling look. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

"You are entirely too nice, Bethany," Anders said. She smiled shyly and blushed, looking away.

Hawke led them across the market. "But enough about him. I'm going to go look at some leather armor. Why don't you two go to the tailor's, and Bethany, you can help Anders pick out a suitable set of robes for the expedition. We wouldn't want to ruin his nice, feathered pauldrons now, would we?" She smirked, looking at both of them.

"Hey! I would never consider parting with this robe. I have a whole wardrobe full of ones just like it. I worked very hard, polishing my distinctive look," Anders said with half-feigned indignation. Hawke gave Bethany a wink and a slight nod, urging her on.

"Come on, Anders," Bethany said. "It can't hurt to look." She tugged him by the sleeve, blushing again.

Anders glanced at Bethany, then at Hawke. "Oh… well, all right, I guess. We'll catch up with you in a bit then, Marian?" he called as Bethany led him down the street.

Hawke laughed and waved, then turned to go into a leatherworker's, the smile dropping away from her face. She stalked through the shop door, fingering her heavy coin purse.

"Can I help you… ahem… _serah_?" the thin, pinch-faced shopkeeper asked. He looked down his long nose at her.

"Yes, my good man," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. She plunked her bulging purse onto the counter. "I've heard you are quite a superior armorer. I want to see your finest suits of leather." She paused, then added, "And I want something that makes me look… amazing. Jaw-dropping. Something that compliments my shape, and perhaps shows off a little more than… well, this." She stuck one leg out, gesturing at her battered and worn leggings. Then she pulled some padding out from under her bulky, ill-fitting cuirass and wiggled the loose breastplate to illustrate her point.

"Of course, messere," he drawled, visually weighing her fat coin purse greedily. "Tighter, more revealing armor. Right away." Without batting an eye, the proprietor guided her to the back of the shop and began parading a variety of pieces in front of a smug Hawke.

* * *

"Maker's breath! Your legs! Your... top. Either that's new armor, or you've grown and I've shrunk," Varric said, looking her up and down with wide eyes.

Hawke give a twirl, smiling wickedly. "Do you like it? Just a little something I picked out earlier today. I thought it was about time I upgraded — for the expedition, since it will be dangerous in the Deep Roads. I wanted to get it now, break it in before we go."

Varric blinked. "Sure… though I don't really see how the skirt helps," he said. Then he shrugged. "Hell... stale, underground air on the legs could be quite invigorating, for all I know. Your old leggings seemed ok to me — but it's your coin. I admit, I don't know much about the latest fashions in ladies' rogue armor."

"I think you look amazing, sister. It suits you, and besides, you deserve nice things," Bethany said. Anders nodded mutely from where he sat to her right; he had been silent since Hawke had met up with them outside the Hightown tailor's shop, wearing her new armor. He and Bethany hadn't bought anything.

"I like it," Isabela said, sauntering into the suite. "I barely recognized you when you came in, Hawke. You didn't even stop by. Are you avoiding me?" She cast her eye around the room. "No Fenris? That's a shame." The dark-skinned sea captain put one hand on her hip and gave Hawke an appreciative, licentious look. "Nice legs… and everything else."

Hawke scowled, not responding. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Isabela continued, seemingly oblivious. "Of all the women I've bedded, you would be, by far, the most fun I think." Bethany gaped at Isabela, and Varric shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Anders made a small strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Not interested," Hawke said frostily.

Isabela sighed. "Well, with the way you look, you can hardly fault me for trying."

"So you've... been with women. In bed?" Bethany asked Isabela, flabbergasted.

Isabela gave a throaty laugh. "I know. Shocking, isn't it?" She walked over behind Bethany's chair and bent down. In a conspiratorial voice, she said, "You see, sweetness, men are only good for one thing. Women are good for _six_."

Bethany turned her head, pulling back slightly as she realized how close Isabela's face was to hers. "Six? Which six?" she asked.

"Isabela!" Hawke exclaimed, eyes going wide and arms dropping to her sides as she was shocked out of her icy demeanor.

Isabela laughed, straightening and turning to face her. "I was just trying to help the girl. I'm a helper. So. What are we doing today, then?"

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "We," she said archly, circling a finger at Varric, Anders and Bethany, "are going to take out the remaining Flint Company mercenaries at the docks, once night falls." She crossed her arms again, posture unmistakably hostile.

Isabela smiled. "Fine by me, I honestly didn't feel like going out anyway. Leaves more time for drinking… and men." She glanced meaningfully over her shoulder to Bethany. "Or women. Or both." She strode back out into the taproom.

All eyes in the room were on Hawke once Isabela had left. "What?" she asked.

Varric shrugged, Bethany looked away and Anders started to ask a question before Bethany elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!" he said, rubbing at his chest. Bethany blushed.

"Let's play some Diamondback," Hawke said, changing the subject as she took her usual seat. "No use sitting here bored until nightfall."

* * *

Fenris paced the length of his room. A half-eaten plate of food and a nearly full bottle of wine sat on the table, both untouched for several hours. He walked over to the window, looking out of it as if he expected to see something more interesting than the dark, dilapidated, overgrown central courtyard. He stared for a few moments, then resumed pacing.

_In three years of running, I have never been so… bored. Even hiding in the bowels of the ship from Seheron for days on end was less tedious than this._

He prowled around for several more minutes, casting his eye over the contents of the room, searching for something to occupy his time.

_Books, books and more books... I've already practiced fighting techniques, and honed my sword. I took a long bath. Not hungry or thirsty. And too early to sleep yet. _

He growled out a sigh, then one of the open wardrobes with its contents dumped out onto the floor caught his eye. _Perhaps I should go through the clothes, look for some more of Danarius's things to sell. _

He smirked, immensely pleased with the idea of pawning off Danarius's personal wardrobe. As he crossed the room, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the windows. He looked down at himself, naked to the waist. He still wore his leather-and-cloth leggings, but had removed the rest of his armor hours ago when it became apparent that Hawke would not be coming to get him that day. He rubbed at his bare chest, fingering the wolf pendant that hung there.

_And perhaps I can find something more comfortable to wear. My current outfits are only armor or nothing._

He rummaged through the nearest pile of clothing, wrinkling his face in disgust as he tossed aside magister's robes and other ornate, heavy garments.

"Why anyone would want to wear these?" he muttered, as he started building a pile to sell off. "I can almost smell Danarius on them."

He spent nearly an hour in this fashion, plundering wardrobes and trunks throughout the house, tossing clothes carelessly about. By the time he finished, he had two sacks stuffed with expensive robes, shoes, gloves and cowls. He dumped the sacks by the front door, then went back to two piles of clothing he had deposited in the center of the great hall.

Danarius had apparently thought to have several fresh sets of clothes for Fenris made, in preparation for his recapture. Fenris had come across them in one of the trunks in a storage room. He scowled at the pile of tunics emblazoned with Danarius's stylized runes, the typical attire Danarius forced him to wear in private. The thin, small garment had exposed most of Fenris's lyrium tattoos so Danarius could admire his handiwork. Fenris had always hated wearing the inadequate, uncomfortable things.

The other pile was entirely black — new, extra sets of armor. These, Fenris eyed appreciatively. Though Danarius had purchased them, the light, black armor had been originally designed by a Tevinter armorer for practicality and function, and its utilitarian look suited Fenris. Even though he no longer served as Danarius's bodyguard — quite the opposite — he still felt most comfortable clad thus.

On top of the pile of armor lay a few black silk shirts that Fenris had found in the steward's room. He bent, pewter amulet dangling from his neck, retrieving one of the shirts. He tried it on, sliding the sleek, cool fabric over his smooth skin. He held out his arms and smiled at how the silk glided over his tattoos like a whisper. It fit him well, and Fenris could not recall ever wearing anything so comfortable, or sumptuous. "Very nice. I could get used to such luxuries."

He left the shirt unbuttoned, his chest and torso still exposed, and scooped up a pile of clothes in each arm. He walked to his room, then tossed the other shirts and armor onto the table. The tunics he took over to the fire and began to burn, one by one, while he finished his bottle of wine.

_I wonder if Hawke… no._ _If she needed or wanted me, she would have come._ He frowned into the fireplace, stabbing at a wad of smoking cloth with a brass poker. The unburned edge of a tunic caught fire, and Fenris stared glumly as it went up in flames. _Maybe she didn't go anywhere. Not that I care. _He calmed his expression, then took a long drink of wine from the bottle. He leaned back in the chair, trailing a hand absentmindedly down the open shirt, feeling soft silk, smooth flesh and the sinuous chain of his wolf amulet.

_It doesn't matter. This is what I wanted anyway. If I don't start disentangling myself from Hawke now… Yes, this is all for the best. Doubtless she will come for me when the expedition is all in order.  
_

As he threw another tunic into the hearth, he muttered to himself, "At least I am no longer bored. For now."


	20. Remember and Forget

**A/N: **Here we are at Chapter 20! Feels good to reach a milestone like this. My house is finally quiet again, so hopefully I can get back on a good schedule for updates. Thanks, as always, for the kind reviews and alerts! I read every single one, and I appreciate that you take the time to comment. I also love seeing the review counter ticking up, and I hope it brings more people to read! So thank you, dear readers, one and all!

I pretty much looped the song "Love Scene" from the DA2 soundtrack while writing/proofing this one, because it's appropriately sweet/sad/longing-y. It inspired me, and it goes pretty well as background music if you enjoy that sort of thing while reading.

I'm just borrowing from BioWare — I promise that I won't break anything, Mr. Gaider, sir!

* * *

**23 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

It is done. Last night, we waited near the docks for the better part of the night, hoping the Flint mercenaries would show up. They finally did, just a few hours before dawn. We took them out, and now that the last of them are dead, I will make my report to Prince Vael… though my stomach is already tied in knots at the thought of seeing him, let alone speaking to him. I stayed home resting today, since we did not get back until nearly dawn. Since I awoke, I've been preparing myself to face the prince. I keep telling myself that it's just an eerie resemblance, and that there is nothing to get worked up about, and yet I find myself both dreading and anticipating this. Maker, I feel so foolish for building up turning in a simple Chanters' Board job in my head.

One night falls and the streets clear, I plan to go find the prince of Starkhaven at the Chantry, where he is reported to be staying. I don't want to be searching for him during a late afternoon service, trying to speak to him over the singing of the Chant. Besides, I need a little more time to settle myself.

There were more of the Flint Company mercenaries at the docks than I expected. But my new armor held up beautifully, with barely a scratch. It fits like a glove, and is so light and well-made that it hardly feels like I am wearing anything at all. A far cry from what I had scavenged along the way while working for Athenril. Still, many of the mercenaries were archers, and even in new armor it was difficult to dodge arrows and chase them down. I couldn't help but remember the way Fenris practiced the other day, rushing in to attack two or three invisible assailants at a time. He could have made short work of that lot, if he had been there… or if I'd had any desire to ask him to accompany us.

Fighting has definitely become more challenging, with me once again serving as the only close-quarters member of our little band. Varric, Bethany and Anders all must fight at range to be most effective (and least killed,) which leaves only me in the thick of things. I had almost forgotten how exhausting and bruising it was before Isabela and Fenris joined us. Doing without them for the past few days has reminded me, though I still don't think I could stomach seeing the two of them together yet.

I spoke with Varric about the expedition yesterday while we played Diamondback at The Hanged Man, waiting for nightfall. He estimates that with the crew Bartrand's already got signed on, likely we should bring no more than two others with us. He and I will be going, of course, and Anders has surprisingly agreed to go. That leaves room for one other… and given my difficulties fighting without anyone at my side, I suppose it should be Fenris. It _is_ why I asked him to join us in the first place. And we had been working well together, before…

He has not come around since the other night, and I do not wish to speculate on what is occupying his time. I know I should go speak to him, but I just don't feel up to seeing him yet to discuss the expedition. Besides, he hasn't come to see me either, though I technically have retained his services. If anyone should seek anyone out, it should be him seeking me!

Varric says we yet have some time before the expedition must get underway, though he urges me to wrap up my affairs quickly, before the lull after the Blight abates. With purchasing new armor and other things, I will need to find a little bit more work to make up the coin I spent. I can hopefully accomplish that within a week or two. There should be plenty of time for me to speak to Fenris as one professional to another within that time frame. The sting of having my ludicrous expectations dashed should fade soon enough. These passing fancies never last long under the harsh light of day.

It is a bit of a shame that Aveline is too preoccupied with the Guard to come on the expedition. I know I can rely on her, and there is not an ounce of drama to the woman. She wrote to thank me just the other day, saying that the crime in Hightown has dropped off dramatically since we busted up the Shallowguard. She can be a little gruff at times, but she is loyal, and has become a dear family friend — she is as solid as stone. I am sure I could persuade her to go, but I don't want to meddle. Aveline has a good thing with the guard, and she deserves a chance to make a new life for herself in Kirkwall as Guard Captain. And hopefully she can keep watch over Mother and Bethany for me, while I am gone.

And yes, I have decided Bethany should remain behind, though I haven't told her yet. I just cannot bear the thought of her in the Deep Roads, where all is dark, closed in and tainted, and where darkspawn could be around any turn. Though Anders is a Grey Warden, which should help, even he could not save us if we run into an underground horde of the creatures. I brought my family to Kirkwall to get away from those things; I do not want Bethany to have to face any more ogres or hurlocks. Besides, I know Mother — she would fret herself to death about Bethany, after what happened to Carver. If we were both to go down there and the worst should happen… no, I just cannot chance it. It will be difficult leaving her up here, where templars are constantly prowling about on the Knight-Commander's never-ending hunt for apostates and maleficars, but it's much better than chancing her dying in a Deep Roads cave-in, or catching the taint, like poor Wesley.

Now I feel thoroughly depressed, on top of being nervous. The sun is starting to set, so I should probably go put on my armor and make my way to the Chantry. Perhaps the walk will help me clear my thoughts. I need to focus on getting through this conversation with Prince Vael. I know nothing will come of it, but I do hope I can avoid letting his resemblance drive me to distraction. I am a professional adventurer, after all, not some foolish, simpering maid.

* * *

Hawke walked briskly through Hightown, alone for once. Though it was dark, she did not fear cutpurses or thugs. She knew she could handle herself; her new armor was intimidating, and the dead Flint Company mercenaries in the Docks would have attested to her skill with her daggers, if they could still attest anything. Also, Aveline's reported crime drop meant the streets should be safe enough.

_No, I can handle this myself,_ she thought. _I need to meet the prince alone. I… don't know what I am expecting will happen, but I know that this will only be harder if I have others watching._

She turned as she reached the broad, high steps leading to the Viscount's Keep, sparing a longing glance over her shoulder for the now-abandoned manor that used to be her grandfather's. _Maker smile on us for a change, and let Mother's petition to the viscount be successful,_ she thought earnestly as turned away from it and strode towards the Chantry. _Besides, he's not exactly doing anything with it anyway, except letting it be consumed by vines._ She snorted irreverently.

Her face grew serious and her heart began to pound as she approached the towering, ornate Chantry. She gave a nervous glance towards the narrow steps that would take her to Fenris's door, half-afraid she would glimpse him there, and be forced to speak to him.

_Maybe he isn't even home. Maybe he's with Isabela in her room at The Hanged Man. Maybe she's there, in his bed. Maybe they're both at the Blooming Rose... Damn, why am even I thinking about this now? It shouldn't matter, they are both adults, and it has naught to do with me. I was the one stupid enough to fall for some dark and mysterious fugitive ex-slave elf. From Tevinter. We have about as much in common as oil and water. No doubt a strictly physical relationship would suit his mood far better than any amount of caring, compassion or friendship I could ever offer._

Hawke swallowed hard against the growing lump in her throat, and put Fenris and Isabela firmly out of her mind. She jogged up the long flight of Chantry steps, the scuffling of her new boots echoing softly in the empty square. It was dark, late enough now that no one was about, though the Chantry should still be open, for the truly devout or troubled often sought the Maker's presence and the comfort of Andraste's Chant at all hours of the day and night.

_I hope the prince is inside. Where will I even find him? This place is huge, and I've only come here three or four times since arriving at Kirkwall… two of those times, I killed people. Hmm, I suppose I never was a very good Andrastian… not that Andraste herself didn't cause the deaths of tens of thousands. No doubt if they'd had Chantries then, that wouldn't have deterred her.  
_

_Why is a Prince staying at the Chantry anyway? I would have thought the viscount would have offered him suites at the Keep, or that any number of nobles would be fighting over the honor of hosting him, now that he is the prince of Starkhaven. He seemed to know the Grand Cleric well enough that she would brook a public argument from him — perhaps she hosts him, out of respect to his grief and loss?_

Hawke reached the top of the steps, a little winded from her climb. The night air was cool, and a light breeze caressed her flushed face. She turned, looking out over the courtyard and Hightown from her new vantage point. She could smell the scents of incense, candle wax and polished floors even here, though the massive Chantry doors were closed. She dabbed at her brow with a red handkerchief.

_Won't do myself any favors if I burst in there sweating and panting. _She slowly put the square of cloth away, gritting her teeth at her foolishness. _Maker, what am I doing? He isn't John. John is long dead, Maker keep him. I doubt he even looks like him up close. I am letting my imagination run wild again, and nothing good ever comes of that. Besides, the man must be in deep mourning, having recently lost everyone… everyone! I am being a fool, and a disrespectful one at that. I must be professional. Just here to do a job. He is a prince, after all._

Hawke turned, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. Despite her self-chastisement, she ran her fingers through her hair, pinched her cheeks a little and bit at her lips to make them slightly redder. _It can't hurt for me to look presentable… just part of being professional,_ she rationalized, trailing her hands down her form-fitting armor, adjusting the cuirass to properly cup under her breasts.

Satisfied with her appearance, she walked confidently to the large Chantry doors, which were recessed, and deep among the night's shadows. Hawke found it amusing that in the building where the Chant of Light was revered, torches had yet to be lit against the evening's dark. She opened one huge door just far enough to slip inside.

Light poured out of the building, chasing away the darkness; she squinted against its dazzling brightness. As she pulled the door shut behind her, her eyes adjusted. She found herself staring directly at Prince Sebastian Vael. Hawke's breath caught in her throat, and she froze, like a startled deer. She instantly recognized him.

_Andraste help me, but he really does resemble John. Even so, who could mistake him for anything but a prince? That armor, the bow, his bearing, those eyes… it's as if someone plucked John from a field, and made him royalty. How can this be? Of all the faces he could have, why must he look so much like... like... _

_Oh Maker, I was a fool to come here without Bethany or Aveline or somebody sensible… Maker. _She realized that she hadn't taken a breath for several long moments and sucked in a gasp.

"Oh," Sebastian said, pulling up short as he saw Hawke. "I didn't mean to startle you, serah. I was just about to light the torches outside." His brogue was thick, and she found herself intent on his words, her ears unused to his Starkhaven accent. He smiled at her. "Maker smile on you, and be welcome. Can I help you with anything?"

Hawke was still clutching at the handle of the door with one hand, her palms suddenly sweaty as her heart fluttered in her chest. She stared at Sebastian wordlessly, her face going pale. She swallowed hard, feeling lightheaded.

He noticed her demeanor and frowned, his eyes concerned. "Serah, are you all right?" When she did not answer, he approached her slowly, palms outstretched. "Please, you are safe here, no one will harm you."

Hawke could not tear her eyes away from his face as he drew near. She was fully caught up in reliving memories of her time with John, painful memories that she had chosen to bury under more than a year's worth of hard work and building a new life for herself and her family in Kirkwall, and before that, in King Cailan's army. She tried to take steadying, deep breaths, but her lungs felt tight, and she could only manage shallow, quick pants.

"Please, be calm. My name is Sebastian. I am… was… a brother here. Will you take my hand, and sit? I promise you, you are safe here." He held out his hand, and Hawke just stared at it, feeling tears begin to well up. She finally looked away, closing her eyes, then taking a hard, juddering breath. Sebastian's warm hand gently folded around hers, and she felt a single, hot tear slip free and run down her cheek.

_Maker, how long has it been since anyone held my hand? Why did I ever leave Lothering behind to join the army? Why did I run from him? I was so stupid…_

_Now I am making a fool out of myself to a perfect stranger, to my employer, to a prince no less! This is just perfect. Stupid, foolish fool of a fool…_

She kept her eyes shut tight, unable to bear looking at Sebastian, at a ghost from her past. She tried to stammer out an apology to him, but her voice failed her.

"Shhhh, it is alright. You don't have to talk. But please, come away from there, and sit before you wind up on the floor." He carefully pulled her away from the entrance, coaxing her further into the Chantry. Once she had taken a few reluctant steps, he placed his other hand on her back, between her shoulders, and guided her. Hawke blinked away tears, then scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her free hand, allowing herself to be led.

_I should not let him to touch me like this, the feelings it stirs are… wrong. It's like I am… using him. I should explain myself, my reason for coming here. But I don't know if I can even speak without blubbering. Well done, Marian, you absolute fool..._

She sniffled as Sebastian ushered her up a flight of stairs to the Chantry gallery, then over to a quiet reading corner with bookcases, benches and seats. He paused in front of a large, cushioned chair, so she sat, pulling out her handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes and nose. He hauled over a simple wooden stool, then perched on it, his armor creaking, his longbow nearly brushing the floor when he sat.

He smiled at her kindly again. "So, do you have a name? As I said, mine is Sebastian."

"Marian," she croaked. She cleared her froggy throat, and tried again. "Marian Hawke."

"And what brings you here this evening, Marian Hawke?" he asked, testing out her name with his Starkhaven accent. She found that liked the way it sounded, coming from his lips.

She smiled sheepishly, then looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her handkerchief. "Will anyone smite me if I tell you I killed the men who wronged your family?"

Sebastian sat up, furrowing his brow. "Excuse me, who are… ? Did you say…? My post to the Chanters' Board? Did Her Grace let that stay?" He looked thunderstruck. Hawke nodded, and he shook his head in disbelief, before regarding her more closely. "I thought for sure no one even read… But you say _you've_ killed them?" he asked, bewildered.

Hawke nodded again, meeting his eyes. She hastily withdrew his notice from her pouch, the paper folded into a makeshift envelope. She handed the parcel to Sebastian, and it clinked, bulging slightly with the many small Flint insignias she had taken from the mercenaries she had slain. He stared at the package for a moment, before unfolding it and peering inside. He looked up at her, surprised.

"I… took the post down. Not the Grand Cleric." She blushed. "I wanted to help. I am so sorry about your family. I… know what it is to lose those dearest to your heart." Her voice broke a little, but she managed to keep her composure.

Sebastian blinked several times. "You have my eternal gratitude, serah. It is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves." He gave her a small, grateful smile, but Hawke could see the confusion still written on his face.

_Of course, I hardly look like a skilled assassin or roguish… rogue. I probably look blotchy, drippy, and half-mad. _She wiped her nose again, then hurriedly stuffed her handkerchief away. She took a deep, cleansing breath, then fixed Sebastian with her most professional look, and least crazy smile.

"So," she said. "You are really a prince?"

He sat even straighter on his stool. "I am Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven," he said formally, with a proud nod. Then he hesitated. "Her Grace might prefer I introduce myself as a brother in the Chantry. But… I could not stay after what happened to my family." His voice was reluctant, and laced with grief. Hawke had to fight down an urge to embrace him and run her fingers through his hair.

_John could never stay sad when I put my mind to cheering him up. Poor Prince Sebastian Vael. Who, if anyone, cheers you up? Maybe… _

_No, I must stop thinking like that. Focus.  
_

_A brother of the Chantry… that explains what he's doing here, and why he's so good at the whole… Chantry thing. Yet he says he cannot stay. Will he leave then, now that his family is avenged? Is it even safe for him here, or anywhere?_

She kept her hands firmly in her lap. "Why was your family killed? Do you know?" she asked.

"My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, but none who would identify themselves openly," he explained. Hawke listened, entranced by his voice, even while she searched his face for all the subtle differences she could find. "A distant cousin of mine is claiming rulership now, but he is… a bit simple. He can be no more than a pawn in this plot." His eyes grew shrewd and distant, and Hawke could easily picture him sitting on a throne instead of a simple stool.

_As long as he keeps speaking, it is not so hard to forget who I'm actually sitting here with. There are differences, but Maker, he truly could have passed for John's elder brother. It feels wrong to be attracted to him, like a violation of John's memory. But Andraste's pert… no, I should not blaspheme here… but he truly is handsome, and charming. _

_And tragic. And a prince. Maker, why can't I be attracted to someone normal, happy and attainable for once?_

_Thankfully, I am in no danger of him falling for me, especially in the blotchy state I'm most likely in at present. Blast, and now I'm staring silently at him. Lovely._

Her brow furrowed as she quickly asked, "Surely you have a guess as to who was behind it?"

"My parents were always… prudent… in how they handled our nobles," he said with a frown. "They did not allow rivalries or resentments to flourish. The attack must have come from outside." He relaxed his posture somewhat. "Kirkwall is our largest trading partner. I came back here to find support for my claim and perhaps for a clue as to who is behind this… foul deed."

Hawke leaned forward in her chair, gazing up at his troubled face. "Again, you have my deepest sympathies," she said with sincerity. Sebastian gave her a polite nod. "Forgive me for asking, but... why didn't your family's enemies come after you as well?"

"That's why I took the offensive," he said, gesturing to the folded notice. "Thanks to you, those Flint Company assassins are no longer a danger." He looked at her gratefully, but his expression deepened into concern. "I'm the last of my line. Unless I survive, my family will have no justice."

She tried desperately not to think of Sebastian Vael's need for a princess to help continue his family's lineage. And how continuing it would be accomplished, which she could imagine only too clearly. She cleared her throat again and smiled, a little coyly. "Well, this assassin assassinated your assassins. It won't bring your parents back, but I hope you sleep a bit easier," she said. She began to curse inwardly as soon as she opened her mouth.

_Why am I joking with him in the same breath I mention his parents? Maker, maybe I really have lost it. 'She took one look at Prince Vael and went starkers! A real raving nutter!' they'll say as the templars drag me down the Chantry steps. Foolish foolish fool of a fool..._

Sebastian grinned, laughing heartily. "Yes, I hope I will. Thank you." Hawke ceased berating herself, and concentrated on not chewing her lip as she regarded him. He tucked the notice and the insignias away into a pouch at his belt, then withdrew a coin purse, which he pressed into her hands. She looked up at him blankly for a moment, before remembering part of the reason for taking on his task was the potential reward.

"Consider this an advance. When I have secured my lands again, you will be paid royally." He stood and offered his hand to Hawke. She took it, rising to her feet, and tucking away the heavy purse with her other hand.

He offered her his arm, and she entwined hers with his, careful not to tangle their armor together. Her hand rested softly on his gleaming white vambrace as he led her back down the stairs and over to the Chantry door. She knew they probably made a nice pair, arm in arm, both in polished, fine armor. She felt her heart twist, remembering how she and John had once been the talk of Lothering, before she'd left. She tried to swallow past the tightness constricting her throat.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must write to the viscount and petition him for aid to a fellow city," Sebastian said as he gently removed her hand, releasing her. She nodded farewell to him, not trusting her voice. He turned and walked away. She watched him go for a long moment, hypnotized by the swing of his longbow and quiver, and his so-familiar gait. Finally, she turned to the Chantry door and began to push it open, fighting the urge to run out into the night.

"Wait," Sebastian called, turning. Hawke willed herself to stand still, though now she wanted to bolt more than ever, like a doe that heard a twig snap beneath the boot of the hunter. She could hear his brisk footsteps approaching, though she did not glance back. She held onto the door again, afraid she would repeat her performance of earlier if she looked at him.

"I almost forgot. Was this all you came here for? Forgive the intrusion, but you seemed rather upset when you first came in. You looked as though you had seen a ghost."

Hawke shook her head, peering down, still not trusting herself to meet his eyes. She itched, like she had a bullseye painted on her that drew his gaze. "I'm fine. You just… reminded me of someone I knew long ago — I was surprised, that's all. But thank you for your concern." She steeled herself, then looked at him, giving him a reassuring smile. "I am well, Prince Vael, truly."

He smiled back, and when he spoke, his brogue helped her stave off the sharp memories that threatened to reclaim her. "Ahh, I see. I am sorry if my appearance upset you." He paused. "I must say, I am not used to that particular reaction. Especially not from beautiful young ladies, such as yourself." One side of his generous mouth quirked up into a somewhat devious smile, a rather un-chaste expression for a former Chantry brother. Hawke gripped the door tighter. Her heart began to thud, and she felt lightheaded all over again. She returned his smile wanly, then squeezed her eyes shut as the Chantry seemed to spin around her.

_Oh Maker, I'm going to faint. I'm going to faint dead away, right here. Why did he have to smile at me like that? It's so hot and stuffy in this blighted Chantry… I need some... what's it called again? I should have brought Anders. Maybe I should stop by the clinic, have him make sure I'm not ill. Or dying.  
_

Sebastian's smile fell away as he noticed her distress. "Perhaps you should get some air, Marian," he said gently.

He pushed the Chantry door open and placed a steadying hand on her back again, guiding her outside. Someone else had lit the torches while they'd talked, and light flickered warmly now along the Chantry walls. Hawke took a deep breath, feeling a little steadier out in the cool night air.

"I'm… fine. Much better," she demurred. "I just needed some fresh air. The Chantry is just so oppressive." Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Stuffy, I mean. The air. Not oppressive as in mages… or religious… never mind. _Balls_." She waved her hand as if to clear away her befuddled thoughts, but Sebastian just chuckled.

"You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Serah Hawke." He cocked his head at her, but she just shuffled her feet.

_And you are entirely too like someone I will never meet again, Sebastian Vael. Thank the Maker you don't have brown eyes, lighter hair and skin, as well as an extensive knowledge of animal husbandry..._

Sensing that she would not speak, he prompted, "Are you new to the city? I don't recall ever seeing you attend services, or visit for confession."

_Do you remember waking up to some dead templars and a tranquil mage? Perhaps a group of slain raiders? That was me, I tend to keep late hours..._

She cleared her throat. "My... mother attends often. Leandra is her name, you've probably met her." He nodded. "I... have been quite busy since we arrived in Kirkwall from Ferelden. My sister rather depends on me, and she... often cannot leave the house," she said, unwilling to tell him an outright lie.

"The Maker has room at his side for every soul. Even busy ones, Marian," he said softly.

Uncomfortable with the proselytizing tenor the conversation was taking, Hawke took a few steps forward before turning halfway to nod at him. "I know. Thank you, but I really should be going. Good night, Prince Vael."

"'There is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost,'" Sebastian quoted, reciting a verse from the Chant. "Though I will not remain at the Chantry much longer, I hope the Maker guides you back here more often. Be well, and thank you again for all you have done. "

Hawke slowly descended the Chantry steps, holding carefully to the railing. Sebastian watched her go, puzzled at how such a bewildering and emotional woman could have accomplished his task so quickly. Once he saw that she had safely reached the courtyard, he walked briskly back inside the Chantry to write the viscount.

Hawke stood at the bottom of the steps, trying to decide which way she should go. Hightown was virtually silent, all the nobles and servants far too busy with dinners and parties to come to the Chantry at this time of night.

_That could not have gone worse. A preachy prince with a bedroom smile, who I can vividly picture doing any number of... things. Well, I suppose I could have vomited on his boots, or disrobed and thrown myself at him. At least he believed my story, and I got paid, but… why do I feel so empty? Why am I so terribly disappointed? I knew he would pay me and send me off… he's a prince, what am I to him, except a means to an end? And someone to convert. I was a fool to expect… _

_I need to get home. I need the company of others, I'm just overreacting to all the memories of… no, I won't think on that. Focus on the present._

She took a deep breath, but felt it catch in her chest. Her lip began to tremble, so she caught it between her teeth, forcing her mind to the task of returning home.

_I could go back through Hightown, the way I came. Yes, Hightown. Or I could take those stairs over there, down to Darktown, and see if Anders… if Anders can find something wrong with me…_

Her blurry eyes flicked to the short flight of steps that led upward, to Fenris's mansion.

_Well, at least I know there's no point going to see… oh Maker._

Her breath hitched with a sad hiccup, and she pressed one hand over her mouth as she finally lost all control of her emotions. The tears began to flow freely, so she sat heavily on the bottom step, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her head into her arms. She wept openly in the empty Chantry square, her sobs muffled as she curled up and huddled against the stairwell wall. She did not even really know why she was crying, which only caused her to bawl harder. She struggled to control herself for several minutes before she finally pinpointed any rational reason for being upset.

_Dammit! Why must it all be so sad? John and Carver, Prince Vael's whole family, Father… all gone. Mother losing her parents and her inheritance, never seeing them again after she ran off with Father… gone, just… like that. Lothering is gone too, and it's never coming back. None of it, none of them are ever coming back. For no reason, just… gone. What is the point when it can all be snatched away so fast? What am I doing? Where am I even going with my life?_

She cringed, trying to stop her tears for a few moments, but they burst forth from her with renewed vigor. _I am a nobody here, despite working my ass off for more than a year. We need status, coin, something… What if the templars find Bethany and take her away, before I can secure us? Mother would die if we lost Bethany too, and she would blame me again, just like she blames me for Carver. Maker, what if __**I**__ go off to the Deep Roads and die? We could all be going to our deaths! What would Bethany and Mother do without me? They can't rely on Gamlen! There is no one left to take care of them but me._

She turned her face, tear-streaked and twisted in anger, to the wall. She beat a fist against the cold stone. _Stupid Carver, why did you have to play the hero and die? Idiot! And why did John have to stay and fight? He had four sisters and his mother to take care of! He should have seen them to safety in Redcliffe, not… not… died some horrible, meaningless death to the darkspawn. What about me? Did he even care? He couldn't think about staying alive for me? I know I ran off to join the army because I was afraid it would end, and I couldn't face that. But he could have said something! He could have come after me! He could have stayed alive, and we could have worked it out! Am I not worth it? Lothering is gone and he's gone, and it's never going to be the same. Stupid!_

Her chest heaved as her anger drained away to be replaced by cold indignation. _Why am I the one who must always think things through? Why must I be the one to keep everyone moving forward? How many people would have died without me? How many of my new friends did I meet saving their fool lives? And yet they keep at it, Hawke this, Hawke that. And then they don't even listen! Everyone knows better than Hawke, but I don't see them stepping up to lead. Fenris thinks he's so blighted smart, then he falls for the oldest trick in the book. 'Oh, whoops, I forgot to put on underclothes, or to have morals.' Aveline is right, Isabela is a slattern. Andraste's fat sainted ass, I can't believe I was so blind about Fenris._

Hawke scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand, glowering through puffy eyes at the steps across the square leading upwards, to Fenris's. "To the Void with you," she hissed through gritted teeth. She felt much better for making the declaration out loud, and she yanked her already-sodden handkerchief out, then blew her nose. She crammed down on memories, both old and new, deciding she had sufficiently wallowed enough.

She stood, dusting herself off, still sniffling a bit. She shook her head, tossing her hair back defiantly. Then she marched out of the square, back through Hightown the way she had come, without sparing a glance in any direction, especially not that of Fenris's mansion.

* * *

Once her footsteps had faded into the distance, Fenris emerged from the shadowed corner where he had hidden himself, not wanting to be seen by whomever was speaking up along the high Chantry portico.

He had gone out for a walk, bored and wanting to get out of the mansion for some air before the rain began. He maintained a low profile, especially around his mansion, so he purposely waited for nightfall, until most everyone had gone indoors to stay. He always avoided people if he could help it, but he rarely had cause to worry near the Chantry. He had been surprised to run into anyone in this part of Hightown, so he'd slipped into a dark recess to wait out their passing.

_At this late hour, the Chantry is usually deserted. If I had realized who… No, I would still not have shown myself. _He forced his hands to unclench from the tight fists they had become when Hawke stalked past and he'd recognized her. _She must have bought new armor. She looked… different. _He swallowed thickly, trying not to think about how much more feminine and curved her figure had been. _It must have been expensive, to have been so well-made, and... custom fit to her. _He noticed his mouth was hanging open slightly from the realization that it had been her, so he closed it.

_Of all people to run into here, I would not have expected… Hawke. She doesn't seem very religious. Nor did I expect her to sit there… crying. For so long. Hawke doesn't cry. She laughs about everything, or gets angry, but never… What was she so upset about? _

He shook his head, bewildered and troubled. Then he paused, remembering his conversation with Aveline. _I hope it had nothing to do with me. I do not wish to face down Aveline, if she found out. Though I see what she meant about not wanting to see Hawke weep. I would not wish to witness that again. It was… uncomfortable. _He fidgeted, feeling oddly distressed about the entire situation.

'_To the void with' who, I wonder? No. It does not matter. I do not care. To the Void with __**her**__. _He shook his head vigorously, as if to clear away his concern, yet he still felt strange.

Fenris resumed walking towards his mansion, pointedly not looking at the Chantry stairs or thinking about how Hawke had sat there shedding tears, less than ten paces away from him, while he'd lingered furtively in the shadows like a ghost. He crossed the courtyard, and put one foot on the step leading to his mansion. He stopped.

_Perhaps something happened today. Or yesterday. Or in the Chantry. Maybe she is hurt… or someone else, someone in her family. Perhaps that is why she didn't come to me after all, these past two days. Maybe she went to the Chantry to pray? To have upset Hawke, it must be serious._

He absentmindedly touched his chest, dimly aware of an ache beneath his ribs. The pewter wolf pendant jangled on its chain beneath the silk black shirt he had donned. He frowned, a small, cynical part of his mind urging him to drop the matter and return home. He took another step, and his heart began to clench more painfully.

He turned then, without thinking, quickly retracing his steps and following in the direction Hawke had gone. He loped after her on light and silent feet, silk shirt and tight pants not making a sound. He set a pace that would catch him up to her, but which would not make him labor. He could maintain this light run all day, if he had to — which he had, many times before.

_Perhaps I should speak with her. _

_No. She probably would not wish to speak of it. She is proud, and women love keeping their secrets close. And she'd probably knife me if she thought I had been spying on her. I'm just… covertly checking up on her. If she refuses to come see me, then how else am I to know what is going on?_

_Besides, it is of no consequence to me. She did not take me with her today; she came here on her own. It is not my concern. She is capable enough to handle her own affairs. I have nothing I could say to her. I will just watch to make sure that she is all right, and that she makes it home safely. That is all._

Fenris caught a glimpse of her just as she turned at an intersection, walking down the steps to the Hightown Market. As he drew nearer, he slowed, watching from around the corner until she had nearly cut across the entire square. He stole down the steps and around the outside edge of the empty market, staying in the shadows, walking behind the vacant stalls. She headed directly to the winding steps that led to Lowtown, and he trailed after her, taking the opportunity to study her changed appearance from behind.

_Yes, that is finely crafted... armor indeed. I am surprised she isn't wearing leggings, though I admit it suits her. Quite well. She looks even more… indomitable than before._ His mouth felt dry, from his run, so he licked his lips and tried to swallow.

Hawke trudged down the steps, taking her time descending the long zig-zagging path. Fenris peered down at her from the low, grated wall that ringed the cliff side of the market, watching her progress, knowing that he would have to wait for her to be part of the way down, since there was nowhere to hide on the steps.

_What will I say if she hears me, or comes back up? _

_No, I will be careful, and she won't hear me. And if she happens to come back up… well, I will just have to think of something then._

She continued on, growing smaller in the distance as she descended. Fenris knew that though he would be able to see her, and all the winding steps beneath from his higher vantage point, from below it was often impossible to see more than one or two levels up, because of the high stone walls. She turned to go down another flight, back to him now, so he quickly traversed the first few flights. He peered over the edge again, feeling slightly foolish.

_The hunted becomes a hunter. The wolf peers down on the hawk. Still, I suppose it is good practice. Helps me stay sharp, should Danarius send more trackers after me. Which he will, eventually._

Hawke turned again, disappearing from view as the steps became narrower halfway down, due to a natural bulge in the cliffside. He scurried down a few more flights, bare feet padding silently on the still sun-warm stones. He could not hear her footsteps now, so he glanced cautiously over the edge of the low retaining wall.

It took a moment for his sharp eyes to locate her. Hawke had stopped in the dark pool between two torches, and she was staring up at him. His ears could just make out the dull rasp of a knife being unsheathed. Fenris held very still.

_No, she can't possibly see me. I was too careful. Maybe she heard some slight noise, or it's her intuition. A loose pebble or a flag snapping in the breeze. No, I must be still._

He did not move, lest the motion draw her attention fully to where he was crouched with barely more than his eyes exposed over the lip of the wall. Thankfully, the night was cloudy, so there was no moon or starlight to glint off his stark white hair. She watched for a long moment, fingering something in her hand — probably a weapon, he knew. A sudden gust of wind kicked up, blowing strands of her hair across her face.

Adrenaline coursed through Fenris as he tensely watched her, sending his whole body thrilling unexpectedly._ She looks like a fey thing, standing in the shadows, watching, waiting. Beautiful. Enchanting. Dangerous._

The torches guttered in protest, and numerous flags and awnings around the city flapped. Dogs began barking in the distance, and somewhere one of them set to howling mournfully. With her free hand, Hawke slowly pulled her hair back from her face. She squinted upward for a few more moments, then finally resumed walking. When she passed the second torch, something glinted — a knife, still in her hand. Fenris tried to calm himself, though his whole body longed to move, to run, to burn up the excitement that coursed through him.

_Definitely one of her daggers. Yes, this is the Hawke I am more familiar with_._ Perhaps she has recovered from whatever upset her. Perhaps it was foolish of me to think she would be in danger. She has proven herself very capable, many times. Why do I keep forgetting that? Why do I find myself constantly watching her, trying to protect her?_

Hawke paused before she descended the next flight of steps, casting a menacing glance around, clearly still suspicious that someone was watching. Suddenly, she exploded into motion, running lightly on booted feet down the steps, taking them two or three at a time. Fenris's blood sang in his veins, and he smiled a feral grin to himself as he waited for her to get well-ahead, bouncing on his heels as he crouched. Once she had descended, he tore quickly after her, taking care to be as quiet as possible.

_Yes, run, Hawke! I do not mind — I love a chase. I should spy on her more often, I am rather enjoying this game. I could go all night...  
_

He raced down flight after flight, ears straining to track her movements. Fenris slowed as he realized he was approaching the bottom of the stairs. The steps widened here, enclosed now on one side by buildings before turning and broadening into a short flight that led into the Lowtown Market. He could make out the dull booms from the foundries which blazed away day and night, the hooting of owls, dogs barking, and even the bells down at the docks. But he could no longer hear Hawke. He sneaked into one of the building's shadows, casting a glance around the walls.

_I cannot hear her footsteps — likely she is waiting around the corner, and I do not wish to reveal myself… nor do I wish to be stabbed_, he thought, smiling wryly to himself. He looked up the side of the building he was pressed against.

_I should be able to see from up there without being spotted. Yes, I think I am just tall enough to reach the outcroppings and gain the roof, if I can just scale partway up from here._

He pushed the excitement and exhilaration he felt from shadowing Hawke into a tight bundle in his mind, easily lighting his lyrium markings. They glowed along his exposed skin and shone through his black clothes. He sank his fingertips and toes into the sheer stone wall, creating his own hand and foot holds with the skilled practice of his lyrium talent. He scurried up the wall, firmly ignoring the uncomfortable sting of partially phasing through dense stone. He climbed to just above the building's first architectural outcropping and let his power extinguish, lest the bluish-white light of his lyrium aura give him away.

Dexterous, strong fingers and toes gripped the stone as he extended his long arms, pulling himself bodily up the rest of the wall from outcropping to outcropping. Soon his fingertips gripped the edge of the roof. He hauled himself up and over easily, carefully avoiding the vicious rusty metal spikes, ubiquitous Imperial adornment throughout Kirkwall, on either side of the outcropping he had climbed. He stayed on his belly, the pendant at his neck jingling softly as he slithered over to look down at the Lowtown market square. His shirt caught on a jagged bit of stone and tore slightly, scratching his chest underneath. Other than those small sounds, he made about as much noise as a cloud passing overhead.

As he peered over the edge of the roof, he glimpsed movement beneath one of the tattered stall awnings. Hawke was crouched behind a rough wooden table, a dagger in each hand now. She was wound as tight as a spring, ready to pounce on whoever came around the stairway corner. Had he not been looking down on her from his rooftop vantage point, she would have been impossible to spot in the darkness. He gave a wry half-smile.

_She is truly adept at hiding in shadows. It was clever of her to run, then lie in wait, ready to ambush. Knowing Hawke, if it was one, two or even three pursuers, she could easily dispatch them with the element of surprise. More, and she could simply remain hidden, and they would assume she had run off ahead._

The pewter pendant pressed coolly into his skin, his chest feeling warm and heavy now, the earlier ache gone. The corners of his lips curved up as he lay on the rooftop, watching her for several long minutes. Hawke did not budge, not even shifting her weight or peering around the table as she stayed crouched. Another gust of wind blew through, fluttering banners and swirling the bits of foundry ash that fell over Lowtown.

Again the wind set dogs to barking and howling. A cat screeched angrily from some nearby alley, then tore across the empty market, slanting towards the stairway. Hawke spun when she heard it yowl, and the cat arced wide around her, each of them startled by the other. Fenris nearly laughed, finding the sight oddly amusing, viewed from above.

As the cat disappeared up the steps, Hawke herself laughed aloud, shaking her head as she stood and sheathed her daggers. She resumed walking in the direction of her uncle's house, her posture now relaxed. Fenris watched her go, the easy way she swung her arms and the sway of her hips exaggerated by her tight, new armor, yet so familiar to him now that he would have recognized her anywhere, no matter what she wore.

She disappeared down the steps to the low market, so he lowered himself over the edge of the roof, clambering down the face of the tall building, gripping ledges like the ones he had climbed up on the other side. He dropped to the wall beneath. It was still some twenty feet above the street below, so he ran lightly along its length. A long, orange, ash-stained banner dangled down towards the market below, just past the end of the wall. As he ran, Fenris eyed the wooden brackets that held it, and gauged them sound.

He leapt over the spikes that ringed the edge of the wall and grabbed at the banner, swinging out into open air as he snaked his arms and legs around the cloth, tangling himself securely in it. He slid quietly down its length, his silk shirt and armored pants protecting his skin from the heat of the friction. He ran out of banner, feeling the orange cloth slip through his legs, and then his hands.

Fenris deftly dropped the remaining ten feet, landing squarely on flexed legs, crouching into the landing like a cat. His back, knees, and ankles yielded, smooth and pliant. He landed with neck bowed, chin tucked against his chest, hands and fingers splayed, barely slapping against the stones as he went gracefully to one knee. The impact of the drop dissipated evenly through his lithe body, barely even ruffling his hair. He knelt like that for a moment, listening for Hawke's footsteps to stop. But they continued on, so Fenris unfurled himself and ran after her.

He moved stealthily over to the lower market, truly exposed for the first time since picking up Hawke's trail. His heart pounded in his chest as he slinked down and over to the steps leading out of the sunken trading area. He peering up just as Hawke moved out of view, now passing in front of The Hanged Man.

_She is nearly home. Surely if she made it this far, she will arrive safely. Do I leave now? Or… do I catch her? _

He quickly thought of the layout between her home and The Hanged Man as he waited for her to move far enough ahead. The street was well-lit, narrow and there was no place to hide. He toyed with the idea of revealing himself to her, asking what she was doing out this late, asking how she was, what had happened since he last saw her. And finding some way to make her reveal what had upset her earlier. But he could not imagine what he would say, or how he would say it, nor how he could explain his sudden appearance.

Hesitantly, he followed her up the steps and past The Hanged Man. All he could glimpse of her now was her shadow, cast by the many torches in this corner of Lowtown. As even it vanished, he could just make out the scuffling of her boots and jangle of her armor as she trudged up the final set of stairs leading to her uncle's door. Fenris set his jaw and crept after her, throwing caution to the wind since he was clearly illuminated now by the torchlight. He skulked along the wall, stopping just below the high landing that led up to Hawke's door.

"Oh darling, there you are." He could clearly hear Leandra's relieved voice. "I wish you wouldn't go out alone so late at night. I was worried something had happened. You should at least have taken that nice Anders with you. I've been waiting out here for what seems like hours." She paused. "Maker's breath, you look terrible! Something _did_ happen. I knew it!"

A sigh, obviously Hawke's. Fenris had heard it often enough. "I'm fine, Mother. It was just... a long day. I thought maybe someone was following me, so it took me a while to make my way home. It was just some cat though, don't worry." Fenris smirked to himself.

"Oh, if only we lived in Hightown. This neighborhood of Gamlen's is not the Kirkwall I remember growing up in, darling. I always felt so safe in our great house, near the Viscount's Keep," Leandra fretted.

Hawke sighed again. "I know, Mother. You really didn't need to wait out here for me. I didn't mean to worry you, but you know I can take care of myself. I had things to do. I couldn't very well keep the prince of Starkhaven waiting any longer for news that the men who killed his family and who were hunting him are dead."

Fenris frowned, realizing Hawke really had been leaving him behind the past two days. He rubbed at his chest, then hissed silently as his fingers rubbed over the scratch he had sustained on the rooftop. It was bleeding. The scent of his own blood filled his sensitive nose.

A sharp intake of breath from above — Leandra's. "Maker preserve us! The Vaels of Starkhaven are a very old, honorable and noble family. Who would do such a thing?"

Shuffling, metal and leather rubbing together. Fenris thought of the way Hawke often fidgeted, digging the toe of her boot into the ground or rubbing it on the back of her calf when she was forced to stand still too long. He could picture it clearly, even without being able to see her where she stood above. "Seba... Prince Vael doesn't know, and I didn't discover anything either. He's petitioning the viscount for aid in reclaiming the throne. I've done all I can for him… I doubt I'll hear what comes of it any sooner than everyone else in Kirkwall." She sounded... stricken.

Fenris frowned, wondering if Prince Vael was behind Hawke's earlier distress. _Did he speak harshly to her? Was she upset because she presented herself poorly?_ His face darkened with anger. _Did he try to force himself on her? Nobles. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them tried to take advantage of her because of how tempting she appears. She was right by my mansion before she went into the Chantry. She could have taken me with her, _he thought jealously, then he realized that he would not have been at home.

Cloth rustling, quiet footsteps, then the soft pat of a hand on leather. Leandra likely embracing Hawke, since her voice was muffled. "You're moving up in the world, Marian. If I can get the viscount to give us the estate, you will fit right in, I just know it. Who knows? Maybe once Prince Vael reclaims his seat, he'll honor you in Starkhaven, too. We're sure to find a suitable match for you somewhere in the Free Marches."

Fenris furrowed his brow. _I had not thought of Hawke… marrying someday. Yet she is a young, beautiful, unmarried woman. I suppose it would be only natural that her mother would want to see her eldest daughter wed… advantageously. _He looked down at himself, pressed furtively against the wall. His clothes were dusty from the rooftop, his appropriated shirt with its small tear across the chest now. His hands were dirty, two fingernails crusted with blood from climbing the wall. One pectoral was deeply scratched. His chest ached anew, and he clenched his fists uselessly against the sting.

Hawke groaned. "Mother…"

Leandra laughed. "All right, Marian. I know that look. We will not speak of it further now. I need to get the estate from the viscount first, at any rate." A pause, then more rustling. "Then we'll find you a kind, handsome, rich husband." She hesitated again, and when she spoke, her tone was wary. "I _hope_ you made a good impression on the Prince. You weren't… flippant with him… or sarcastic? I know how you like showing off your clever tongue. I always thought your father let you get away with too much."

"Mo-therrrr!" Hawke protested loudly. "Honestly, you forget sometimes that I'm no longer a child." She shifted, likely fidgeting again. "Let's just say I… made quite an impression on him. One I doubt he'll soon forget." Fenris could hear the voice laced with reluctance, sheepishness and disappointment.

The door squeaked as it opened, and two sets of footsteps faded. "Did you meet him, Marian? Was he as handsome as you thought?" Bethany called. Fenris had to strain to hear her soft voice. "Did he fall madly in love with you?"

Hawke chuckled, "Ohhhh, no... I doubt that." Her mournful undertone reminded Fenris of the sound of her earlier weeping, and he bowed his head, closing his eyes against the memory.

The door shut behind Hawke then, so he could not hear her further reply. He frowned deeply, now feeling quite foolish for following her all the way home, and for eavesdropping on her. He was tired and weary now, the adrenaline of the chase leaving him. His chest was so tight, it felt like his skin would split or his ribs would break. He fought a desire to go up the stairs and confront her. He moved, but one hand clutched at the wall, and he stopped himself.

_No. What am I thinking? I have wasted enough time on this. I have seen for myself how different her world is from mine. I resolved to maintain my distance from her and the rest of them, because I hardly recognize myself anymore. I must maintain control. This is exactly the sort of exercise in foolishness that I cannot afford. _

_What if Danarius has men following me right now? I am unarmed and unarmored. They could capture me, and I could not even give them a fight. What am I doing here? I cannot go even one day without getting wrapped up in her affairs. I should not have come. This is futile.  
_

He balled his hands into tight fists and stalked away, back towards Hightown to patch up his aching chest.

* * *

**24 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon  
**

Rain today. Have decided not to go out. I could use a day off, even if it means being holed up with Gamlen.

Things went fine with Prince Sebastian Vael last night. He was very grateful, and Varric was right — he rewarded us well. He seemed nice, if a little religious. He's trying to garner support in Kirkwall for his claim to the throne, and I wish him well. I doubt I will ever see him again, which is probably for the best.

Aveline was right, Hightown is much safer now. Even Lowtown was pretty quiet. I thought I heard someone following me on my way home last night, but when I looked, whoever it was had gone. Maybe it was just an animal, but I am almost sure someone was there. Still, it seems our efforts in Kirkwall really are paying off. Maybe I should go tell the Arishok that I'm seeing a 'real difference' here, even without the Qun?

Spent the day with Mother, talking about family. Grandfather and Grandmother, and Father and Carver. She apologized for blaming me for Carver's death, which was a relief, honestly. She seemed to be harboring her own guilt over eloping with Father and thinking that my grandparents hated her all those years, when they had forgiven her. It is so sad that she never got to see her parents before they died. Gamlen didn't help much, talking about all the long years of watching them pine for her, wasting away. He is such an ass.

Mother seems to have all her hopes pinned on regaining the family estate. Bethany too. Her face lit up, talking about having a nice house to live in with crests on the walls. I will have to do my utmost to ensure that this expedition is successful — coin will go a long way towards convincing the viscount to reinstate our claim. Mother's audience with the viscount is only a few short weeks away, so I will need to speed things along and get the expedition moving. Hopefully, I can return swiftly, before things around here begin to go to the Void without me.

Bethany was tight-lipped when I tried to talk to her about Anders and their little shopping jaunt in Hightown the other day. She claims that he isn't interested in her, but when I asked if he had said as much to her directly, she confessed that he hadn't. She said that she thought "his affections lie elsewhere," but she wouldn't elaborate. That is ridiculous. Anders barely has time for anyone outside of the clinic, and helping me out from time to time. Perhaps one of the Ferelden refugees he has treated, or another apostate, or someone staying in Darktown? He has never mentioned anyone, but I don't pry into his personal life.

Still, I urged her not to give up. One of us deserves to be happy, at least. A fledgling relationship such as theirs is like being on a boat — you might get tossed about and banged up a bit, but eventually you get where you're going. Half of the fun is the journey, or so I am told. I suppose it is a bad analogy for me, as I hate boats, after that awful trip from Gwaren.

A cryptic letter arrived for me today, from an anonymous author calling me a 'proud scion of the Hawke family.' It is supposedly from someone I have met before, who knows me to be a person of good character. That eliminates quite a few seedy elements right there, and therefore roughly three-quarters of Kirkwall.

There was coin enclosed as a token of good faith, and the writer urged me to meet them outside the city to aid in a 'delicate task.' Somehow, I doubt I will wind up tatting lace along the Wounded Coast. If this is a practical joke by Varric, I'll take him down to the docks and throw him into the water myself.

I suppose I should go investigate the matter tomorrow, if the weather improves. The letter urges me to respond, lest the 'lives of many innocents' be on the author's hands. Dramatic enough, I'll give that to whoever it is that wrote it. I'll take some of the others with me, in case this is some kind of trap or ruse. Perhaps Varric, Anders and Merrill again… it was pleasant enough, going with them to Sundermount and back. No use seeking out Fenris, having to face him, just to take him on some fool's errand.

I suppose I will have to see him again eventually — once we are ready to leave for the expedition for sure. But until then… I don't know. This is the third day he has made himself scarce, not that I sought him out of course. No doubt I will be over this soon enough. Until then, I'm sure he is keeping himself occupied one way or another.

* * *

Fenris went to the front door for the second time that day, opening it, scanning the wet street outside. He scowled up at the rain clouds, droplets of rain pelting his face. He slammed the door shut and stalked back to his room, where he sank into his usual armchair by the table. He picked up the torn black shirt and the threaded needle that he had abandoned, then began to stitch up the small tear from the previous night's excursion.

He had already washed the blood out, so he sewed it up with neat, tiny, even stitches that barely showed on the delicate fabric. Idly, he wondered where he had learned to mend clothing, but no amount of searching his shortened memory yielded any clues. He remembered Danarius making him mend things, just to put him to use. Also, he could think of a number of different sewing techniques and tricks, for many kinds of fabrics and garments. Just not who had taught him.

He tied off the thread and tore at the loose end with his teeth. He flung the repaired shirt onto a pile of clothes without bothering to inspect it. Then he just sat staring, quietly brooding, while he watched the candles on his table burn.

_Of course she will not come today. No one is out in this weather – even if she did come, I'd probably call her a fool for venturing out in the rain. Not that it matters. I do not wish to go out anyway. I have plenty to keep me occupied._

He tapped his long fingers on the armrest of the chair. He strained his ears, listening for any sound from the entryway, but he heard nothing but the patter of rain on the windows and roof. His gaze shifted from the candles to the needle that still lay on the table. Familiar questions swirled in his mind, thoughts that had bothered him for years.

_I cannot remember anything before the ritual. The more I try to remember a time before, the more I wind up reliving those awful hours spent strapped to a stone slab in Danarius's work room. There seems to be no going further back than the searing agony. But there must be __**something**__ there._

_I did not have to learn how to eat, how to dress myself, how to speak. I even knew the common tongue. I knew how to use a sword. And I know these things about mending clothes, the weather, the history of the Chantry, and of the Imperium. Why would any elf slave know these things?_

_I never heard anyone in Tevinter, not slave, citizen or magister, talk about the Imperial Chantry as anything other than the only Chantry. Yes, everyone knows the Black Divine is considered a male usurper by the Orlesian Divines, but no one dares speak such things aloud. They speak only rarely of the "White Divine," when the emissaries arrive for another futile round of token discussions. Yet I have never heard anyone speak of the original schism from the Orlesian Chantry, or of the Circle, except to condemn it. The magisters suppress most talk about Andraste and her Divine March… yet I know of all of this. I cannot read, so how did I learn more than that? How?_

_Someone has taught me these things, but who? Danarius never would have. He never wanted any of his slaves to know anything, lest they start to feel they had some worth. And even if he did teach me, he would have gloated to me of it after the ritual, so I would know it was he who molded me. He must have wanted me to forget. Surely I must have parents. I must have a family, mustn't I? He always refused to speak of it, and became enraged the few times I dared ask about my past. That… venomous snake took everything from me. I never wanted this, and he forced this wretched life on me. He must die. He will die! Venhedis! Fasta vass!  
_

Fenris slammed a fist down on the table, causing the needle to jump, and the spool of thread to roll away, trailing black thread behind it. He hastily coiled it back up, jamming the needle into the soft cork of the spool and stowing them back in the box of notions Hawke had thought to give him.

_It is good that I am no longer letting myself grow soft. I have come too far to see things go to the Void now. I will kill Danarius, and I then I will have my answers. Until then, I am just killing time._

He got up and went to the door again, frowning as he opened it and the sound of droplets splashing down filled the entryway. He sighed, checking the street once more and finding it still empty, before he returned to his room.

Fenris sat back down, steepling his fingers as he stared into the candle flames, resolutely digging past remembered agonies while he tried to bury the familiar warmth that he had turned his back on so recently. The rain continued to fall, and, lost in his thoughts, he did not bother to check the door again.

* * *

**P.S. - A/N: **My inspirations for this chapter were:

- my husband. He was my inspiration for Hawke's first love, and he really does look at lot like Sebastian, which why this idea struck me in the first place. He's been super supportive about me spending all my time writing this fanfic, even though he hasn't had a chance to play DA2 yet. He was also gracious when I confessed to him that I killed off the character he inspired just before the story starts. I know, I'm mean — but it did get me thinking what it would be like to lose him, only to run into someone who resembled him. When I realized I'd have to write about Hawke meeting Sebastian, it was just too interesting not to explore. (Besides, I secretly think Sebastian is mega-hot, but I am so disappointed that his romance is kinda half-assed, and all religious-y. Still, I don't think I could not have Hawke be attracted to him, just a little.)

- this short story about Fenris on the BioWare forums by the DA2 dev team - bit .ly/eT3XG3 (remove the space)

- the emotional meltdowns most of us have from time to time when life starts to build up after a while. Even our future Champion is human, after all.


	21. Pushed

**A/N: **I don't know how, but this one's not too terribly long! Well, comparatively :| I know the chapters have been growing a bit on the lengthy side lately... I'm trying harder to keep them manageable.

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews. I am so overwhelmed by the response on top of all the great milestones. First hitting twenty chapters, then breaking 60 reviews. Now we're topping 100k words, and it's been a month since the first chapter was published. And I still have so many ideas! I'll keep it coming, and thanks again for reading :)

Don't forget, you can check up on me on twitter at lotusflwrfanfic if you are curious about the progress on the next chapter.

As always, these are BioWare's toys and I'm just playing with 'em.

* * *

**25 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Maker, but it is muggy and miserable out. The summer is definitely full upon us now. The rain stopped sometime during the night, so Varric, Anders, Merrill and I went to the Wounded Coast this morning, as the mysterious letter instructed. Isabela wanted to come along, but I told her that her help wasn't needed. I may have been a little sarcastic, and rather glare-y, because Merrill tried to hide under Varric's bed — but I think Isabela got the hint, finally. The last I saw of her, she was heading for Hightown. No surprises there.

The writer of the letter turned out to be Ser Thrask. I had not expected that. He is… a very unique templar. First an apostate daughter, and now this. The Maker makes all sorts, I suppose.

He wanted my help with a number of mages who had escaped while being transported from the burned-down Circle at Starkhaven to the Circle here. Since their phylacteries had been destroyed in the fire, they thought they could get away from the templars easily. Unfortunately for them, Knight-Commander Meredith and her ruthless lackeys do not give up so easily. Ser Thrask was trying to get the apostates to surrender before Ser Karras, one of Meredith's favorites, tracked the mages down himself.

Though Ser Thrask did not specify what Karras would do, exactly, I could read between the lines. Templars have a limited number of hobbies, after all — drinking lyrium, whoring (apparently… why Keran, why?,) defending the Chantry, and suppressing mages. In Kirkwall, at least, suppressing mages is being taken to a whole new level, thanks to Meredith and her ilk.

I really did not want to get involved with more templar business — especially where apostates are concerned, with two of my own in tow… but I didn't want to let Anders or Merrill down by allowing the wholesale slaughter of mages either. Besides, Anders, who initially looked like he would go all Justice-y at the mere sight of Thrask, suddenly turned to me with the most ridiculous puppy dog eyes when he realized we could help defuse the situation.

Since the escaped mages were attacking templars on sight, Ser Thrask waited outside while we went in. We barely got a dozen feet into the cave when an apostate scout spotted us and summoned the dead. Anders was furious that they would make deals with demons (and I once again let his hypocrisy go unmentioned. As I said, the day was miserable enough with the hot weather.)

The further in we went, the more blood mages and corpses we had to fight. Just when I began to wish that I had let Karras handle the clean up, we ran into a young man named Alain who was trying to reach the exit. He said he had run when the leader of the mages, Decimus, had turned to blood magic. Alain also insinuated that this Decimus was quite mad, and may have been the one who burned down the Starkhaven Circle to begin with. Madness and magic do not make for a happy combination in a man.

The young mage wanted nothing more than to return to the Circle, so I sent him to surrender to Ser Thrask. Anders did not complain, for once, but he was quite caught up in his anger over the Starkhaven mages' use of blood magic. I do admire him for his conviction that mages should be free, but one day he will come to realize that not even all mages think the Circle is irredeemably bad.

We found the rest of them in a large cavern, deeper in. Decimus was there, and he was indeed performing some kind of blood ritual. When he saw us, he shouted, "The templars are here!" or something to that effect.

Now I do not know if templars in Starkhaven look terribly different from the ones everywhere else, but even so, the man must have been utterly deluded by whatever demon had claimed him. Anders was in robes, Merrill is an elf, and Varric is a dwarf. I have not looked into a mirror lately, but somehow I doubt I look much like a templar myself.

Some of the mages tried to stop Decimus and the others from attacking, but there was nothing for it. We had to slay him and several other blood mages, as well as many vile corpses and rotting skeletons. Anders was, by this point, livid that they would profane the dead in their desperate bid for freedom. It is good that even he has lines he will not cross — it would be very troubling if he gave himself over to vengeance fully. "Any means to an end" is spelled d-o-o-m, in my book.

Once things quieted down, Grace, who was apparently Decimus's lover, half-accused and half-thanked us for putting a stop to things. She seemed appalled by the use of blood magic, but also angry that we had killed Decimus and doomed them all to return to the Circle. I suppose I understood her distress, even though I questioned her taste in lovers. But I let Anders explain to her that we were trying to help, and that we had no choice. She seemed to finally get it, since she had realized he was an apostate as well. She then asked for our aid in escaping — to kill Ser Thrask so they could flee.

Anders, the utter hypocrite, took all of half a second to mull it over before telling me that killing one templar was a small sacrifice to save a handful of mages.

I swear, he does not seem to think things through rationally when it comes to mages and templars. What about Bethany and Merrill? What about his own safety? I was not about to risk my neck and everyone else to help some senseless mages escape. Not by murdering one of the kindest, most sympathetic templars this side of the Waking Sea, while at the same time pitting us all against Meredith, Karras, Cullen, and every other templar in Kirkwall who thinks like they do.

Anders. I could have throttled him. I probably _should _have throttled him. He needs a decent throttling.

No, I told Grace I would not kill Ser Thrask for them. I said the best I could do was convince the templars that they were all dead. It would buy them time to escape, but anything beyond that was not an option. She seemed sure that it would never work, and Anders was disappointed… but neither of them have ever seen me lie. I have been lying to templars since I could speak, probably. Not to mention I had an ace up my sleeve in Varric. One of us was bound to spin a suitably believable tale.

Ser Karras arrived with a large company of templars just as we were exiting the cave. I admit I shot Anders a rather smug look, but he seemed to be straining to keep Justice reigned in. That he had to struggle not to fight over a dozen templars tells much about his mental state. Ser Karras was arguing with Ser Thrask, but we interrupted them to make our "report."

Varric spun a wonderful tale about me being a Ferelden templar that Knight-Commander Meredith sent for especially for this delicate task. I told Karras and Thrask that we'd killed the blood mages, but that their leader escaped through the back of the cave, heading towards the coast. Karras was only too willing to believe all the Starkhaven mages had turned to blood magic, and thankfully Thrask picked up on the tale. He led Karras and his men away, to the coast to track "the leader," leaving the way clear for Grace and the others to escape.

I do not know if those apostates will make it long, but I suppose a chance at freedom is better than none. At the same time, I would hope that should Bethany ever be taken to the Circle, she would not be so foolish as to attempt an escape from the templars of Kirkwall. They seem to breed their templars utterly ruthless, and mages quite foolish here in the Free Marches. I do not know if things were different back in Father's day, but I can understand why he ran. That he escaped to Ferelden seems a miracle. Still, I wish the mages luck, and hope they show better judgment than they showed following Decimus to near-ruin.

I am terribly glad that Fenris did not make an appearance today. I do not want to even think how things would have gone had he been along. It was daunting enough, keeping Thrask and Karras from looking too closely at Anders and Merrill. I'm starting to feel we may be better off without him, despite the difficulties of holding the front line on my own.

It always comes back to mages and templars lately. Maker, I find myself almost looking forward to the Deep Roads.

* * *

Hawke fanned at the fresh ink at the bottom of the page, then slid her journal across the table to Varric. He put his sketchpad aside and flipped back through her entries until he reached a page with indecipherable figures, blobs and spirals on it.

"You know, I forgot to ask you the last time I caught up on your journal. What is this supposed to be, exactly?" He spun the book around, pointing at the smudgy picture.

Hawke's cheeks flushed. "My memory is a little... fuzzy, but I think I was drawing the dragon fight from The Bone Pit. I… had a lot of brandy that night."

He turned the book back towards him, squinting at the page. Then he pulled it closer, almost to his nose, moving the journal slowly out until held it at arm's length. "I don't see it," he finally said, shaking his head.

"I don't see you showing me any of your drawings," she huffed. She reached across the table, snatching his sketch pad away. Varric just waved one hand lazily, thumbing through the pages to resume reading while she began flipping slowly through his sketch pad.

The first handful of pages were simple shapes — bowls, flowers, trees, fruits, wine bottles. Afterward came weapons, swords, daggers, staves and shields, and many, many drawings of Bianca. Hawke chuckled at those. He had drawn scenes from Kirkwall too. The distinctive shape of The Gallows, the Twins, chains and spikes, ships. Then came the people.

Though Varric drew with few strokes and details, favoring stylized outlines, she easily recognized Norah and Corff from the bar. Next were several pictures of Merrill, her willowy elvish figure, and innocent, curious stance giving her away. Aveline, holding a sword and shield. Anders, complete with feathered pauldrons, jabbing his staff at a stiffly standing templar. She recognized herself wielding daggers, next to Bethany, who held a staff in one hand while the other had ice and flame hovering above it. Isabela, low-bodiced and bedecked with her blue kerchief and gold jewelry, carrying a small chest under one arm. A picture of Bethany and Isabela, both now wearing low bodices, their protruding bosoms a little larger than life.

"I'm starting to think I know why Bianca is so jealous," she drawled.

"What Bianca can't see won't hurt her," Varric said without looking up from her journal. He seemed to be concentrating, so Hawke let the joke drop.

She flipped to the next sheet. She immediately recognized Fenris — tall, lithe and unmistakably elven, his unkempt mop of hair, huge sword; he was clad all in black, of course. Varric had drawn him standing tall, though usually Fenris hunched over. Her eyes lingered on the simple portrait, surprised at the actual complexity of it.

_He's captured Fenris's brooding, feral quality pretty well, I'd say. _She stared at it for several long minutes, lost in thought.

"So, the shine is off the apple, eh?" Varric asked after a while, closing her journal. He set it aside, then leaned back in his seat to peer at her over steepled fingers.

Hawke stopped tracing the outline of his drawing of Fenris, looking up. "What do you mean?"

"I was wondering where our elf's been these past few days."

She screwed up her face, closing the sketch pad and pushing it away. "Who cares? Besides, I thought for sure he'd be here, with Isabela." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I haven't seen hide nor hair of him," Varric explained with a shake of the head, "and neither has Rivaini. She's spent every night stringing that lovesick poet along for drinks and gifts. In the morning, she sells them, and spends the coin at The Blooming Rose. Since you haven't taken her with us lately, she's been pretty bored." He paused, raising one eyebrow as he fixed her gaze. "Now, why would she be paying to entertain herself, if she had a broody elf willing to do it for free, hmm?"

Hawke scowled down at the table. "I don't know. It isn't my affair. Besides, he hasn't come to see me either."

Varric sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "It's like primary school all over again," he muttered to himself. He shifted in his seat. "Look, Hawke. We need the elf, and there's nothing going on between him and Rivaini. She was after him pretty hard, I'll grant you, but she's moved on like she always does. We're going to want him and his ridiculously huge sword on the expedition. You need him…"

"No, I don't," she cut in, glaring sullenly.

He sighed again. "You need him," he continued, "so you don't get pummeled into dust before we even get to the Deep Roads." He tapped the cover of her journal. "You said it yourself, it's hard being the only one out in front. As difficult as the guy is — and believe me, growing up with Bartrand, I know difficult — he is useful. Go talk to him already."

She looked away, pouting. "He should be the one coming to talk to me. I'm the leader, or so everyone keeps telling me."

"As the leader, it's your responsibility to take the high road, set expectations, be a good example," he chided.

She snorted, still looking away.

Varric rolled his eyes. "The two of you have enough pride between you to fill the Waking Sea thrice over and drown us all. You're more alike than you know." He shook his head. "Think of it this way. He's a little messed up in the head from being a slave, and from being hunted. Staying in one place, trusting people… it's all new to him. He's scared, but instead of showing it, he puts up that broody wall and expects people to leave him alone. It's the only way he knows how to protect himself." She frowned.

"But the Hawke I know doesn't scare that easily," he said, continuing. "She rips the arms off of ogres, kills dragons with her bare hands, and outwits the Arishok. Surely one elf with a dark little raincloud over his head is no match for her."

A small smile tugged at her lips, so he pressed on.

"When people have nothing, they usually cling to what they _do_ have — their pride. And proud people don't know how to ask for help. They'd rather push friendship away than let anyone see them down on their luck. I've seen it happen over and over with surface dwarves who arrive from Orzammar with nothing, and merchants who lose everything in a bad investment. Think about it from his point of view. How did you feel when you first got to Kirkwall?"

Hawke squirmed in her seat. She was staring at the floor now, brow furrowed.

He leaned forward in his chair. "Where would you be without your family? Or I if I hadn't approached you about partnering on the expedition? If I had let you run me off with your skepticism, instead of persisting and making a good case for teaming up?" he asked.

She chewed at her bottom lip. Looking up after a moment, she said, "I… see your point." Then she groaned, propping her elbows up on the table as she let her face fall into her hands. "Andraste's red nosehairs, but I feel so _stupid_."

Varric leaned back in his chair, chuckling. "There, there now. It's hardly your fault. Our elf has brooding down to a fine art. It was hardly fair of him to use it against someone as nice as you."

She peeked at him through her fingers. "And you're sure he and Isabela aren't…?" He nodded his head, and she groaned again. "Maker's breath, then what in all of bloody Thedas is his problem? After seeing the Arishok, he wouldn't even speak to me, let alone look at me! It seemed so obvious that he was pining after her… " She trailed off, shaking her head in her hands.

Varric smiled wryly, remembering the way Fenris had been staring at Hawke all the way up and down the Wounded Coast, and the private conversation he'd had with him after they'd returned from the Qunari compound. "I've no doubt he's pining after something, but it's not our Rivaini," he blithely informed her.

She puffed out a long breath, then sat up, oblivious to his true meaning. "Well… I suppose we should go see him, then."

Varric waved his hands. "Uh-uh. No 'we.' _You_ go see him. I wasn't the one leaving him behind out of mistaken jealousy, in a pique."

A flush rose to her cheeks again, but she tilted her chin up. "Fine. I see I have to take care of everything." She pushed her chair back and rose gracefully, head still held high. She waggled a finger at him, but her tone was teasing. "Just remember that it was _I_ who did all the heavy lifting, when you're splitting out the profits from the expedition."

He chuckled. "Sure thing, Hawke. I'll make sure you get everything you want and then some, trust me. Just leave it to me, I'll take good care of you." She nodded, then marched out the door.

A minute after she left, Isabela poked her head in. "Is she going?" she asked. Varric nodded.

She sagged in relief. "Thank the Maker! I don't want to wake up with one of her daggers in my back. How is it that she's so incredibly dense when it comes to men?" He shrugged, spreading his hands wide. "Besides, if she doesn't take Fenris on the expedition, _I_ might have to go." Isabela shuddered visibly. "I can't stand small, tight, dark spaces." Then she paused, adding with a smirk, "Well, actually…"

Varric sighed. "And here I hoped that you'd tired yourself out, going to the Rose every day."

Isabela gave him a wanton smile. "Never." She paused. "I hope they get on with it. The sooner they do, the sooner they'll get a little bored, and I might have a chance of _squeezing_ in the middle. You know, to liven things up a bit for them…" She trailed off with a dreamy look in her eye, and Varric just shook his head.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set as Hawke trudged up the long steps to Hightown, thinking of things to say to Fenris. The streets were nearly empty, most sensible folk staying indoors, seeking refuge from the heat.

"'All right, you've had a nice rest. Back to work tomorrow then?' Hmm, kind of flippant. Maybe 'How have you been? Tongue all better, can you speak now?' No, too sarcastic…" she muttered to herself as she turned to head up the next flight. She kept her eyes on the stairs, not wanting to take a fall in distraction, bouncing down all the way back to Lowtown.

Someone on the landing above came around the corner, descending the steps, traveling in the opposite direction. She moved to the right, then to the left. In Ferelden, people always kept to the right but in the Free Marches, the custom was the opposite. She was always forgetting, after lifetime of habit.

_How about "I missed you, and I was miserable without you, even though you drive me insane." Too truthful?_ She chuckled softly, then quieted herself as the other pedestrian passed by. _People really will think me insane if I go around laughing to myself in public. _

"Oh Fenris…" she muttered to herself, as a familiar, deep voice behind her said, "Hawke?"

Fenris's thoughts had been distant, on whether he'd find Hawke at home or at The Hanged Man, and what he'd say to her when or if he found her. He had meant to wait until nightfall, but had been too restless to stay home any longer. Though his attention had been elsewhere, he'd caught her scent after he'd walked past her.

Hawke whirled, turning so fast that she almost lost her balance. He stood nearly at the bottom of the flight of steps, well below her; she had been so lost in her thoughts and in watching her footing, she had not even looked at who had passed.

"Fenris!" she exclaimed, a little breathless from the long climb.

"I… didn't notice you there," he said by way of greeting, looking up at her. He focused on her face, averting his eyes from her bare, shapely thighs, which were displayed much to his advantage with him being on a lower step.

"I didn't… I mean, I thought that was you," she lied, unable to think of a good reason why she would be saying his name otherwise.

They stared at each other silently. Fenris clutched a rolled up parchment in one hand, and it made a crinkling noise as he clenched his fists. Hawke chewed at her lip. Finally she took a few steps down towards him.

"I was just on my way to see you," she offered, remembering Varric's lecture. She hesitated. "I'm… sorry I didn't come sooner."

"I see." He looked to the side.

She frowned, trying to search his face though it was turned away from her, his expression now hidden behind his white hair. "Are you still not speaking to me, then?" she asked, giving up.

Fenris glanced at her, fist tightening, crushing the parchment further. "No…" he said, shrugging then looking away again. His thoughts were still jumbled, and he felt woefully unprepared to face her.

She threw her arms up into the air. "No? 'No,' as in you aren't speaking to me, or 'no,' as in you are?" Her hands went to her hips, and she glared down at him imperiously from several steps above. She found it a little strange to look down at him since he was several inches taller than her, and she usually looked up at him — but it did not deter her from glowering overmuch.

Fenris felt his hackles rise at her tone. His whole body felt suddenly hot, and he snapped. He lunged up the stairs, just one step below her and of a height with her now. They were face to face, armored chests nearly touching. His expression was dark, and Hawke stood motionless, caught between equal impulses to lean towards him and take a step back.

"And what would you have me say?" His voice was angry and bitter. "I waited nearly four days, with no word from you, or anyone else. I sat around doing nothing for hours on end, while you went gallivanting around the city and countryside, probably with _Anders_, that pirate wench, the nosy dwarf and that… Dalish _creature_," he said, eyes narrowing, his face now mere inches from her own.

She was taken aback by his words and tone, but she did not flinch away. _He's trying to intimidate me, to push me away just like Varric said. If this wasn't about Isabela, then what was it about? Well, no matter. I've had enough of being chased off like some annoyance. Hmph! This gets sorted out here and now, for better or for worse. _She stubbornly set her jaw while he continued his rant.

"And now you _graciously _come for me, like I'm some useless afterthought." He waved one hand in a vicious, mocking way, the red sunset glinting off his clawed glove and steel vambrace. "What, did you run out of other people to talk to? Do you need me to kill someone for you, to do something that you are too _weak_ to handle yourself? Is that what I am to you, a _slave_ to have at your beck and call?" he demanded.

_His breath smells like strawberries and wine. The grocers must still be making his deliveries — good. The berries this time of year are so succulent, _a small part of her mind thought idly. The rest of her reeled at his vehemence. She pursed her lips when he ended his tirade, holding in a number of sarcastic responses that sprang to mind.

She concentrated on his eyes, searching them. His face was dark and inscrutable, as always, but the deep well of hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. She could hardly fathom where it had all come from; she wasn't sure she could even handle the knowledge. Her sarcasm evaporated. "I would rather die than see you a slave again," she said fiercely. "I would never treat anyone like that, least of all you, Fenris." He blinked, but his expression didn't change.

His vitriol bled away, her resolute declaration like a sweet stab to his chest. Fenris's heart swelled instead with a now-familiar ache, as he read the open, honest truth in her lovely eyes. He wanted to run, to hide, overwhelmed by the forcefulness of her presence, by the immovable strength he read deep within her. He knew here at least was one person he could neither overcome nor intimidate. Though it had been he who pinned her with his gaze, he wanted to squirm, to look away. Part of him panicked. Part of him was aroused.

Their faces were so close that his large, green eyes filled Hawke's entire field of view — not that she minded. Kirkwall faded into nothingness, and she felt like she would fall into those eyes and be swallowed up in their depths. It frightened her even as it enticed. Though the day was still hot, a small shiver ran through her. She almost wished she hadn't run into him, that she hadn't confronted him… almost, but not quite.

A strange tension hung between them — anger, concern, irritation, lust, fear and fascination all swirling and shifting like the colors in a soap bubble. Unbeknownst to one another, they both fought off the urge to fidget, to look away, to close the gap between them and taste the other's lips, to flee.

"You didn't seem to want anything to do with me after we spoke to the Arishok," she finally said, unable to bear the uneasiness any longer. "It seemed you wanted to be left alone, so I gave you your space." He didn't respond, though she could see his jaw muscles clenching. "Was I wrong?" she asked, one eyebrow quirking up. He held her gaze a few moments more, his whole body going taut.

He looked away from her then, rattled, but not willing to show it. He tilted his face down and his curtain of white hair shielded him. She could no longer see his expression, but she was grateful for the reprieve from his intense gaze.

Even the tips of his ears felt hot, and Fenris consciously made the effort not to fidget. He kept his voice as nonchalant as he could. "I… suppose you could have interpreted it that way," he said. He closed his eyes briefly, giving a small sigh of relief when his voice did not betray him.

She gritted her teeth at his dodging, inwardly cursing his fool pride. "You didn't have to wait at home. You could have come to The Hanged Man, you know," she said, trying to stay non-confrontational. "That's what you usually do. When you didn't show up…" She sighed. "Even if you didn't want to talk to me — whatever your reason — you could always have spoken with Varric. Or sent a message." Fenris did fidget then, his face still hidden behind unkempt hair. She balled her hand to keep from tucking it back behind his ear so she could see him properly.

He turned, going down to the landing. He put his sword aside then sat there, forearms resting on his knees, head hung low. She watched him for a moment, then followed, sitting beside him. She was careful not to get too close, lest she inadvertently touch him and set him off again.

Fenris glanced over at her, then turned his gaze out to the city. Hawke studied his face, her eyes tracing over his profile again and again in the dimming light, as if making up for lost time. The Chantry bells tolled from somewhere above, marking the dinner hour.

"I… was on my way to find you," Fenris eventually said. "I went out to the market today, to sell some of Danarius's garbage." The corners of his lips turned down in disgust at the mention of the magister, and she could see the slight tightening under his eyes that marked his displeasure. Then he turned to her, giving a small wry smile. "Remind me to spend the coin on something… frivolous. It would please me greatly to waste his gold."

Hawke laughed delightedly. It felt good to relieve some of the tension. "Oh, I can think of many utterly stupid things to do with it. Several at The Hanged Man alone." She chuckled some more, then paused. "Maybe you should give some of it away. Put it to good use. Turn Danarius's wickedness on its ear, serve the the greater good and all that." She smiled and shrugged, and Fenris looked back out over the city.

"Perhaps." His expression was thoughtful.

They sat in silence for while, until a throng of Lowtown residents began to file past them heading home for supper at the end of the workday. Fenris ignored them, but she had to move over, leaning towards him to avoid being trampled. She held herself rigidly, trying to keep her body from touching his while also trying not to be kicked, or carried off down the stairs.

"Gedda room! You lovebirds hangin' about onna stairs make me wanna sick up," a big, sweaty man said as he stomped past, eying the pair of them. He noticed Fenris's ears, and he snorted. "Bleedin' elves, I dunno what you women see in'em. A real man's got some muscle!"

"Aww, leave the pair of 'em alone Daryl. They's _adorable_," a plump woman dressed as a scullery maid shouted from half a flight above. "I 'member when you was a skinny lad, an' use'ta court me like that. Now look at ya. Muscle? More like all fat an' piss an' vinegar!" Several people laughed, all of them glancing at Hawke and Fenris as they descended.

"That's cuz I left courtin' till afta dinna, dinn'I! When we wasn't gettin' in people's way. A workin' man's gotta eat first, then have his sweet lil' dessert later, luv," he called back. The plump scullery maid giggled, and the other servants laughed raucously.

Someone jostled her, and she was thrust up against Fenris fully as the thickest press of people filed past. He stiffened and leaned against the wall, but he didn't stand or push her away. Though he seemingly still ignored both the servants and her, she could see that he looked uncomfortable. He kept his face turned away and he hunched inward, as if he didn't want to be seen or recognized.

"Sorry," she whispered to him as someone's knee bumped into her back, throwing her against him again just as she was trying to straighten. Some of the men started jeering and whistling as they moved off, and several older women tutted at her in disapproval. She tried to glare, but it was growing a little too dark for anyone to see her expression.

Finally the flood of people became a trickle, and then they were alone once more. She scooted away, adjusting her armor and smoothing her hair. She laughed nervously, glancing at him. "Rude bastards. The people around here are something else."

He still didn't look at her, and the paper he'd had in his hand was completely mangled. _Bigots though they are, those people were right. I am making myself look ridiculous_, he thought with disgust._ What is wrong with me? I can't believe I've let myself do this again. What was the point of staying away from her if I'm just going to come crawling back like a wounded animal? I even accused her of abandoning me, when I was the one that pushed her away. Why am I setting her up to hound me? I want to be left alone, don't I?  
_

_Yet here we are, being mistaken for lovers? As if I know the first thing about love. As if she could bear being close to me for more than a minute's time._ _As if we have a past or any hope of a future. Either I am a fool, or I am mad._ He began to swear colorfully in three different languages, weaving Arcanum, Qunari and the Common Tongue into a tapestry of invectives under his breath.

Hawke scrambled away backwards as he began to growl out the melange of harsh words. "Really, I'm sorry, Fenris." Her eyes were wide, her back pressed against the opposite wall, one leg drawn up and the other resting on the step below.

He looked over at her when she spoke, and his stream of curse words cut off abruptly as he drew in the sight of her._ No, I am not a fool. Not for being attracted to her. That armor is entirely too… flattering._ _It may keep her from getting killed, but it will be the death of me. __**She**__ will be the death of me. _"Festis bei umo canavarum," he muttered.

She cocked her head at him. "Um… what?" she asked. She was still sitting pressed up against the wall, but her eyes were now confused rather than frightened.

"I like your new armor." He kept his eyes firmly on her face, though he itched to run them up her legs again. _Yes, this must be some form of madness.  
_

She flushed, realizing her unintentional display. She turned hurriedly to sit properly on the steps. "Andraste's striped knickers…" she cursed, smoothing down her scaled leather skirt. "I am not used to it yet."

He kept his expression neutral. "I didn't see any stripes." Her cheeks went a bright crimson, and he barely kept down a laugh. _Yes, my mind must be breaking. She will be my undoing. I should walk away, and never look back. _His heart twisted painfully at just the thought of it._  
_

So instead, he stood, retrieving his sword. Then he extended a gloved hand to her. "We should move on." She looked at his hand for a moment, hesitating, before she allowed him to help her to her feet.

She brushed herself off, then rubbed first one boot and then the other on the back of her leg. Fenris watched her, silently amused at her predictable mannerisms. "Shall we go back to your mansion then?" she asked, looking up at him.

"The Hanged Man," he said quickly, unwilling to trust himself to be alone with her. She paused, cocking her head at him again before she nodded. Taking the lead as usual, she headed back down towards Lowtown.

_She really has no idea what even an innocent question such as that does to me, _he thought. He rolled his eyes to himself. _Of course she doesn't think about what she says or does around me — why should she? Look at me, I am no one and I have nothing to offer her. This attraction is obviously one-sided; I am the one reading meaning into her actions where there are none._

He looked down at his gloved hands, flexing the wicked claws the armor made of his fingers. What he hoped was the viscount's notice was still wadded up in one hand. _But it is probably for the best. I know nothing about courtship or love or… wooing. I can't even read up on the subject. I know how to run, and how to kill — that is all._

_ As long as I control myself around her, I can keep myself from playing the fool. Eventually, something will drive us apart, and that will be the end of it._

_Besides, her mother is right — she is meant for someone far better than I. What do I know of happiness for myself? I have no hope of making her happy.  
_

Hawke stopped, looking back up at him. "Aren't you coming, Fenris?"

He pushed his brooding thoughts away and descended quickly, thinking instead of how he'd chased her down this same flight of steps two nights ago. Realizing those thoughts didn't help either, he took a deep breath to clear away the memory of her looking so wild and breathtaking. When he caught up with her, he brushed past to lead the way, not feeling up to the strain of following behind her just yet.

They walked in silence for a time. "You know, some cat scared the ever-living daylights out of me near here, the other night," she said, making small talk as they wound their way down.

"Oh? Scared the daylights out of you at night, did it?" he deadpanned.

She snorted indelicately. "Haha. You know what I mean."

"And here I thought you had nerves of steel. What will people say if they learn small animals frighten the mighty Hawke? Who will hire us then?"

She laughed, recognizing his dry humor. "Well, I'm not convinced it was just a cat. Something was following me, but it was the cat that made me jump out of my skin."

"You seem to have put your skin back on well enough." She chuckled. "Maybe it was a wolf following you," he continued, finding himself enjoying this teasing, easy banter.

"A _wolf_?" she asked, incredulous. Peals of her high, delighted laughter echoed down the cliffside. "What in all of Thedas would a wolf be doing in _Kirkwall_?"

_What indeed? _"A fair point," he conceded, grinning wolfishly to himself. They passed through the Lowtown market as twilight fell. She caught up and walked beside him. He glanced at her, then spoke again to keep himself focused. "As I was saying before, I came to find you. While I was in the market, all the nobles were gossiping. I think you might want to hear about it."

She grinned. "You know me only too well. I love a bit of juicy gossip."

* * *

Varric settled back in his chair contentedly with a large tankard of ale. He smiled openly at the pair of them, but Hawke was scanning a rumpled paper, and Fenris was pouring out two cups of wine.

"'Offered on the authority of His Excellency, Viscount Marlowe Dumar,'" she read, glancing up from the savagely crinkled parchment to look at Fenris. "I wish you had just tucked this into your belt. It's nearly impossible to make out the words. You practically turned it back into wood."

Fenris pushed a cup across the table to her, then leaned back languidly in his chair. "Just read it." He sipped at his wine, trying not to let his nervousness show.

She squinted down at the wrinkled page, then cleared her throat. "'Citizens of able nature, Viscount Dumar requires your aid,'" she continued, her voice mockingly deep and authoritative. "'His son, Saemus Dumar has been lost to uncertain company, and a safe return is sought with all haste. Make your case of skill to Sensechal Bran at his station in His Excellency's Keep, and the reward for this act shall be generous in both sentiment and coin.' What, they couldn't just state the amount on the notice? It probably means it's too small. I wonder if we can go without the sentiment and double the coin..." she mused, setting the notice aside.

"Uncertain company?" Varric asked. "What's that supposed to mean? He was abducted by a whore? He ran off and joined a mercenary band? He put on women's clothes and is passing as a serving girl at an inn somewhere?" His eyes glittered hungrily. "We should take the job just to find out the backstory here. I'll get free drinks for a month for this tale." He rubbed his hands together.

"It could be slavers," Fenris said darkly. "This city is infested with them." He stared into his cup, lost in thought.

Hawke began to reach for his hand, then picked up her wine instead as she realized what she was doing. "I suppose there is only one way to find out," she sighed. "We'll go see Seneschal Bran tomorrow... though I've heard from Aveline that he's a real hard-ass. Oh, we can pay a visit to her as well." She took a long drink, relishing the complex, sweet flavor of the wine. She hadn't drank any since she last shared a bottle with Fenris — that had been several nights ago. She swirled the red liquid around, thinking how she'd almost forgotten how satisfying it could be — both the wine and the company.

Varric looked between them as they both started vacantly into their cups. "So… when you say 'we,' I assume you mean yourself, me and the elf here?" he asked.

Hawke looked up at Fenris, who gave a small, casual shrug, still brooding at his drink. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but her lips curved up into a small smile. "I suppose. After all, why mess with a good thing?"


	22. We Love One More Day

**A/N: **The theme song for today's chapter is Leliana's Song from the DA:Origins soundtrack. The chapter title is the translation of the last line of the song.

BioWare owns all. I'm just backfilling the gaps and coming up with titillating explanations for Fenris's fidgeting and his constant use of Hawke's surname.

* * *

"I wish I could go… but I'm glad you'll be taking Fenris with you today. Whoever was bold enough to kidnap the viscount's son will probably be dangerous. I'll feel better, knowing he's at your back," Bethany said, watching her sister put on her armor.

Hawke laced up one of her boots. "I had no idea you two were such fast friends," she responded dryly.

Bethany smiled. "I like him because you do. And he probably likes me because he likes you."

Hawke paused halfway through lacing her other boot. "Somehow I doubt that he likes me much at all."

"Oh come now, he tolerates you best of all of us. That must count for something, right?"

"Pfft, tolerating is hardly akin to liking. You saw how early I came home." Bethany's face grew contemplative as she thought back, so Hawke explained. "After our chat on the way to The Hanged Man last night, I thought Fenris and I would have a nice relaxing evening. You know, smooth over the rough patches with wine and small talk. But he just clammed up and fled home… again. Like he suddenly couldn't stand the sight of me." She resumed doing up the armored leather boot to her knee, tying it securely.

Bethany cocked her head. "Really? But you said you ran into him when he was coming to find you. And that he'd complained about being left alone the past few days. That he'd turn around and leave is… strange."

"_Men_ are strange, Bethany, and Fenris is an exceptional man in every way." Hawke tugged a brush through her hair. "No, he ended the night early. Decided that we should go out first thing this morning to find Saemus Dumar — he thinks slavers took him, and I suppose he's worried they'll ship him off to Tevinter, or something.

I explained that it was unlikely slavers would take the viscount's son, trying to mollify him since I wanted to stay out — and since it is likely true. 'Besides, read the notice yourself,' I told him. 'It says right there we are to present ourselves to the seneschal first. We can't do that until mid-morning at the earliest.'

But no, he balled up the notice and threw it in the fire. 'I wanted to save that in my journal, to show my children and grandchildren someday!' I cried, but he didn't even apologize. Granted I was teasing him, but still.

Then suddenly he says we should all turn in, and get an early start. And he leaves — practically runs out the door. So here I am, up at the crack of dawn." She shook her head, then began strapping on leather vambraces. "You know how I abhor getting up at this hour. I am _not_ a morning person."

Visions of Fenris awakening her in more delightful and pleasing ways swam through Hawke's mind. _If he wants to dictate when I go to bed and when I wake, the least he could do is properly motivate me… _Her fingers began to fumble with the buckles of her vambrace, so she tucked the thought away for later.

Bethany chuckled. "You don't have to tell me. I've seen you when you don't get your proper lie-in." She handed her sister her daggers, and Hawke slipped them into place in their sheaths on her back.

"Well, I guess that's everything. Do I look all right?" She held out both arms, and Bethany nodded in approval.

"You look great, as usual. Go get 'em, sister," she said, pride in her eyes. "I'll be here when you get back… also as usual." She looked thoroughly dejected now. Then she hesitated. "And take it easy on Fenris. Try to make it at least a week this time before you two get into another tiff."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "In a week, we will hopefully be in the Deep Roads — there won't be anywhere to run, even if we do argue. Besides, it's him you should be chastising, not me. I behave normally." She shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know what's going through his head half the time. But I'd love to know. It is infuriating — he's delightful every once in a while, but then… Maker."

"I can't wait to go to the Deep Roads. It'll be so good to get out of this house for awhile, see more of the world," Bethany said, excited.

"Don't get your hopes up," Hawke warned. Bethany gave her a confused look. "I just mean the Deep Roads must be even darker and dirtier than this pig-sty," she added hastily. She gave her sister a hug, then quickly went to retrieve her journal, tucking it under one arm. She moved towards the door, calling back, "I will make an extra effort with Fenris just for you, Bethany." She headed out to collect Varric, a little rattled at having to conceal the truth about the expedition from her sister. Bethany wistfully watched her leave.

* * *

Fenris slept heavily, cradling a plump, goose-down pillow close in his arms. Though the season was warm, he was coiled up beneath soft sheets and a thick feather duvet. He often slept under several layers of bedding, since he never wore any clothing to sleep — his wardrobe was small and limited, so now that he had the luxury of a house to himself, he preferred to air both his attire and his skin at night.

The room brightened as sunlight slanted in through the windows, shafts of light creeping towards the bed. He finally stirred as a slash of sunshine shone on his face. He cuddled the pillow closer, nuzzling his face into it, unwilling to fully awaken out of the pleasant haze of dreams involving himself and Hawke. He mumbled her name, then hoisted the blanket over his head before embracing the pillow again.

Though he had left The Hanged Man less than an hour after arriving with her yesterday evening, claiming they all needed to rest, he had stayed up almost all night. Usually he was able to fall asleep quickly, no matter the time or place — it was a skill most slaves either learned quickly or suffered without. But last night, despite running all the way back to the mansion, through the city and up the all the winding steps, he still found himself beset by a restless energy.

Fenris had paced for a while before he decided to draw himself a bath. As a slave, he'd had almost no time to himself to wash, and he'd certainly never had the luxury of hot water or a tub to soak in.

He still felt a little ashamed for running away from that inn in Antiva where he'd taken his first hot bath, stiffing the proprietor out of the cost of his room and board. That wooden tub of warm water fragranced with a handful of dried herbs and flowers had felt like sweet heaven. If he could go back, he'd have paid the woman thrice over for her hospitality, though he'd always suspected she wanted something… _more_ from him than just coin.

Now he bathed as often as he wished, usually lingering until the water grew cold.

So last night he'd settled back, closing his eyes and letting the hot water relax his long limbs and hard, weary muscles, expecting drowsiness to seep in. While bathing, he had let his thoughts wander… about how nice it was of Danarius to leave him a deep bathing tub, how Hawke's uncle probably didn't have a one, how he should offer to let her use his.

Then he had thought about her bathing with just a washbasin, scrubbing herself with a rough cloth while bending down, as he'd had to do so many times as a slave. He'd pictured her sinking into his deep copper tub, idly wondering whether or not it was large enough for two. He fantasized about bathing with her, soaping her up, rinsing her off, drying her. And vice versa… and then it became too much, so he cut his ablutions short, hurriedly exiting while the water still steamed.

He'd washed his clothes instead. After stoking the fire, he'd hung his clean garments up as he too dried in front of the fireplace, pushing away thoughts of Hawke crouched by the campfire on the Wounded Coast, and the memory of watching her sleep across from him. He thrust away an idle notion to find a plush rug to drag in front of the hearth for laying down on — laying _her_ down on — and he turned away from the flames as he began to feel unbearably hot.

Still restive, he'd then paced some more, trying to think about other, gravely serious things. The Deep Roads. Saemus Dumar and slavers. Danarius and Hadriana out in the world, plotting somewhere. He'd tried to remember something, anything from before the ritual, and his arousal finally abated under the memories of torment and pain. The attempt left him feeling faint and nauseated, though he still had still been unable to recall anything.

So he'd fixed himself a late meal to settle his nerves and stomach. He had some cold beef, cheese and bread… and then he made the mistake of having a handful of strawberries.

They reminded him of the color of her lips after she had been sipping on wine. He could imagine watching her eat the plump berries, her white teeth tearing into the ripe, red flesh, succulent juices filling her mouth, running down her chin. He imagined licking the sticky sweetness from her, tasting her skin, her lips, her mouth. He imagined doing this on the steps to Hightown at twilight, on the shore of the Waking Sea, under the heavy boughs of a vhenadahl tree, on a rooftop under the moon, in a hayloft, across Varric's table, on his own table, in front of the fire, in his bed.

He became thoroughly undone before he knew it, so he'd resignedly gotten into bed. Gritting his teeth, he'd satisfied himself quickly and mechanically, hoping to purge the thoughts of Hawke from his mind. His body seemed to take his actions as a sign of surrender however, and he had been forced to thoroughly tire himself out while replaying all the scenarios in his mind before he was well and truly spent for the night.

By then, it was only a few hours until sunrise, and he'd felt utterly juvenile, and more than a little raw. Convinced he was consumed by madness, he had finally fallen asleep chastising himself for his lack of maturity, control and concentration. But he had been rewarded with the thoroughly deep, peaceful and refreshing sleep that now held him well past his usual time to rise at dawn.

A loud sing-song voice called from the great hall. "Fenris! Are you ready to go? Not that the seneschal will see us anytime soon, but since you insisted, here we are…"

Fenris bolted upright in bed, abandoning his soft, feathery substitute for the woman he heard climbing up the stairs. He cast his eyes quickly around the room, Tevinter swear words hissing through his teeth as he realized all his clothing either hung from the mantlepiece still, or were in a wardrobe in the corner, both across the room and in front of the open door.

"Go away." His voice was harsh, not having to feign irritation.

Her footsteps stopped, and he could hear her loud sigh. "Not this again," she muttered, though his ears were good enough to make it out. "What did I do now?" she complained. "I got up early, like you _demanded_, and I'm going to see if Aveline can get us in to see the seneschal first thing. You ran off after one drink last night — how could I have possibly offended you again already?" He could hear her foot tapping impatiently on the carpeted step.

"Just. Go. Away," he commanded. "Wait in the front hall, I'll be out momentarily."

Another dramatic sigh. "_Fine…_" He could hear her stomping back down the steps. Then she stopped, and began to giggle. Even though he could not see her, his cheeks burned.

"Oh, Fenris?" she called, trying not to laugh.

"What?" he responded flatly. His gravelly voice carried out into the hall, though he spoke through gritted teeth.

She snickered, as if trying to muffle her laughter. When she finally spoke, her tone was highly amused. "Just a totally _random_ thought, but remind me to take you shopping for a robe later. Doubtless you could use one." Her voice faded as she walked away, and he heard a click as she graciously closed the door to the front hall.

His jaw muscles clenched hard as he slid out of bed. He skirted around the edge of the room to close its door.

Much to Hawke's delight, peering through the foyer door's keyhole, he was briefly exposed as he reached over and pulled his room door shut. But she was thoroughly disappointed that the flood of sunlight from the windows behind him rendered him just a tantalizing outline.

"Damn, I'd hoped those lyrium markings glowed all the time or something. I'm dying to know what they look like under all that armor…"

Varric stared at her in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing? He will kill you, you know. Literally. He does that, killing people. A lot."

She smirked. "I'm just doing what any good rogue does. Being… roguish. Don't worry yourself about it." She crossed the hall to lean against the opposite wall, inspecting her fingernails and humming a Dalish song Merrill had taught her — the picture of nonchalance and innocence.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to think our Rivaini is having a bad influence on you." Hawke fixed him with a heated look and winked, a dead-on impersonation of Isabela. Varric chuckled.

After a few minutes, Fenris flung the front hall door open. It banged loudly against the stone wall, and a few chunks of plaster rained down from the ruined ceiling. Varric nodded to him. Hawke continued to pick at her nails, humming.

Fenris crossed to the front door, but paused just before he threw it open too. He looked at Hawke, his expression a mixture of suspicion, curiosity and anger.

_I recognize that tune. From…_ He tried to place it, but all he could remember was the searing agony of thin rods of lyrium being cauterized into his flesh.

"What is that?" he asked with a snarl.

She looked up casually, a small smile quirking her lips. Her humming morphed into a playful, "Hmm?" Then she caught his expression. Her brow furrowed and her eyes lost all their sparkle of amusement, growing concerned.

"That… melody," he said, taking a menacing step towards her. She slid away, her hands dropping to her sides. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but after seeing the feral look in his eyes, she couldn't find any words.

Varric stepped in. "Good morning to you too, Elf," he said cheerfully. "It's called 'In Uthenera,' I believe. Daisy sang it for us on the way to Sundermount the other day — it's Dalish."

Fenris turned to look at Varric. "_Her_. I see." He looked back to Hawke, fixing her with a long, hard stare.

She stared back, trying not to shrink away. "What?" she finally asked, thankful that her voice did not sound shaky.

"No more humming... _that_," he said in a low growl. "And I do _not_ wear robes. Ever." He turned, yanking the door open, then he stalked out into the street.

She looked at Varric, but he just shrugged. "Even nightrobes must remind him of mages. And we already knew he's really not a fan of the Dalish," he said. "Daisy told me he wasn't interested in hearing about them, but still, who'd think he'd hate hearing a Dalish song being _hummed_?" Shaking his head, he went through the door following after Fenris.

Hawke moved to the empty doorway, standing there and looking out for a moment, brow still furrowed and thoughts uneasy. Fenris turned the corner, walking stiffly down the flight of steps to the Chantry without so much as a glance to see if she or Varric followed.

_Perhaps I should just expect him to be like this from now on. Clearly the random moments of flirtation and teasing are just that… completely random. _She thought back to the dark well of hurt she'd seen in his eyes yesterday, the depths of which had unnerved her so. Then the angry, pained look on his face just now. "Will I ever understand you, Fenris?" she asked quietly.

_You should have left well enough alone, Marian, _a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. _He's going to leave, and it's going to hurt. You know this._

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

_You should have left him behind, kept going. You could still do it. Go to the Deep Roads without him, and by the time you get back, he'll be gone. It'll be you leaving him, instead of the other way 'round. No one gets hurt. Problem solved._

She swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. "No," she whispered aloud. "The last time I ran away, I lost… I lost everything." Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the thought of her past mistakes. It built up, squeezing harder and harder until she almost sank to her knees. Her hands tightened on the door frame, holding herself up.

_Marian, Marian, Marian… why are you still so worked up over that? You know it would never have worked out. It's just not who you are._

_That's why you joined the army. You had fun, remember? The squire, that lieutenant with the green eyes, the flame-haired musician that stayed an extra week in camp, just to… entertain you. _

She buried her face against her upraised arm, hiding it, ashamed. At how within a span of weeks, she had wound up betraying John several times over, even as he was back in Lothering faithfully and doggedly pressing her mother for her hand.

_Really, Marian? The only shame is that you never got a chance at that blond Grey Warden, ol' whatever-his-name-was. _

_There was no betrayal. You never made promises to John. You were very careful on that point, I remember. So was he — he never declared himself openly, right? It took you months to realize he was leaving himself a way out. _

_At least on that score, Fenris is easy to read._

She mutely dug her fingers into the doorframe, splinters of soft, rotting wood lodging under her nails. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence the nagging, cynical voice in her mind. She tried to remember that John had truly loved her, that he'd just been too gentle, careful and subtle with her for her to recognize his intentions.

_Yes, you were just inexperienced then. It's not your fault your absence actually made his heart grow fonder, or that the darkspawn ruined everything. He probably waited for you or gave you up for dead, but it's not your fault he died for it. It was a dumb move on his part. He should have left, taken your hint._

_You know better now, you've got experience. __Take Fenris's hints. _ Leave him behind, stop caring, forget about him. You're being weak.

"No!" She grimaced, shaking her head back and forth in denial. _Stop it. Shut up! I __**refuse**__ to believe that caring about someone makes you weak. I joined the King's army to protect the people I love. My only weakness was allowing myself to believe that I didn't care for John as much as I truly did. I can't let that happen again._

She straightened, taking a deep breath and composing herself. She shut the door to Fenris's mansion behind her, then walked briskly to catch up with her companions. She moved mechanically through the Hightown streets, deftly wending through the crowd by reflex while her thoughts were on Fenris.

She finally caught sight of Varric waiting in front of the steps to the Keep. As she approached, she could see that Fenris was already at the top, prowling back and forth around the Keep's open-air gallery, much to the shock of the nobility who were promenading there. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching him. Varric approached her.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, glancing from her to Fenris and back again.

_My thoughts should be on the Deep Roads. And the viscount's son. Fenris is… a mystery that will just have to wait. We're friends… sort of. That can be enough for now, can't it?_ She chewed at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. Varric watched her quietly.

_But I do care about him. I'm certain of that much, at least. I am __**not**__ leaving him behind. If he leaves, so be it. I would rather face the pain of being left, than the pain of leaving someone I… care about behind again._

_No. I left Lothering a girl, but I arrived in Kirkwall a woman. Time to start acting like one._

Hawke nodded once to herself. "Just thinking about the days ahead," she said finally, giving Varric a small, tired smile. They began to mount the steps slowly, Hawke keeping pace with Varric and his shorter legs.

"If it starts to weary you, think about the coin you're earning. Works for me every time," he told her. "Speaking of work…"

She groaned, catching the tenor of the topic change. "Maker, Varric, not another rumor. I thought you wanted me to get on with the expedition 'post-haste,' as they say in… I forget where, actually."

"I think it's Dwarvish. If anyone knows how to rush things, it's a dwarf," he quipped. She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. "And yes," he continued, "I do want us to get the expedition underway soon." Then he sobered, pitching his voice low. "But I've gotten word that there was a Chantry sister poking her long nose around Lowtown last night, looking to hire someone on the sly. She's been back for a few nights in a row, now." Hawke's eyebrows drew down in concern. "I read what you wrote about leaving Bethany behind. I figure you don't want some Chantry busybody hanging around, or worse, to go missing and get the Templars involved. You know what Lowtown is like."

She nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, of course. Thank you for looking out for Bethany, Varric. It means a lot to me. Really."

He shrugged. "You can thank me after we're rich off of lost thaig plunder, Hawke. This is just me doing what I do best — keeping tabs on everything."

"Bartrand doesn't know how good he has it. I'd love to have a little brother as clever and resourceful as you," she said, smiling down at him.

"Shhh, keep it down. The spies of the Dwarven Merchant Guild are everywhere — I don't want word getting out that I'm anything but a feckless layabout."

Hawke laughed low in her throat, though her expression sobered as Fenris fell in behind them. She glanced back at him, but his eyes stayed on the ground. He kept tugging at and readjusting his armor, as if his clothes fit poorly, despite being as tight and flattering on him as ever. Turning back to the task at hand, she led their small group up the second, shorter flight of steps to the doors of the huge keep at the pinnacle of Kirkwall.

_Duties first, figuring out Fenris later. Never a dull moment these days, not knowing whether a blood mage or humming a song will set him off. I should look on the bright side — at least he's interesting to have around… and pleasant to look at, if a bit fidgety._

* * *

**26 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Today, I met Viscount Dumar. I think I actually managed not to put my foot into my own mouth when talking to him. I tried my best to make a good impression, so Mother will have an easier, rather than harder time at her audience with him. Having his gratitude should help our case. For, no thanks to rude Nevarrans and seneschals, we have safely returned his son Saemus. Note that I do not say we rescued him — for Saemus was actually in the company of a Qunari friend of his, never kidnapped at all.

Hmm, looking back over last night's journal entry, I see that I should fill in a few events from when I last wrote. I'm such a busy woman, I can't even keep myself abreast of all my doings.

Fenris and I ran into each other last night, I on my way to speak to him, and he on his way to bring me news of a reward for recovering the viscount's missing son. As always, we argued a bit… though perhaps he was more hurt than angry. It was a little baffling, since it was he who pushed me away and avoided seeking me out until almost the very moment I finally went to him. Still, things are back to normal between us… as normal as they get, anyway.

This morning, he, Varric and I set out for the Viscount's Keep to officially accept the job of finding the viscount's son. Aveline came with us too for a change, because she felt the task of finding Saemus Dumar rightly belonged to the Guard. Even though she was off-duty and acting in an unofficial capacity, she thought her presence would mollify the Guardsmen, who were unhappy that the viscount did not trust them with the task.

When we went to speak with Seneschal Bran (who is quite… what's a good word that means 'stick up his ass'-y? 'Rude' seems too nice,) we ran into an uncouth Nevarran woman who apparently led a mercenary band trying to make inroads in Kirkwall. She rather boldly declared her band, The Winters, would bring Saemus Dumar back from the clutches of the Qunari or Tal-Vashoth, meet the viscount, and claim the reward. From her tenor, it seemed clear Saemus's physical well-being ranked low on her list of priorities.

After Ginnis, the mercenary leader left, the seneschal explained to us that we were welcome to look for Saemus as well. Then he stressed that though Saemus might be headstrong and reluctant to return, he was not to be harmed. He confided that Saemus was likely in the company of Qunari, whom he was known to sympathize with. I offered to speak to the Arishok, but that had already been tried. The Arishok, unsurprisingly, did not particularly care about the viscount's family problems.

When she asked why the matter was being handled outside of official channels, Bran informed Aveline that, because of the involvement of the Qunari, the matter had to be dealt with publicly but unofficially for the viscount to avoid a political scandal. Apparently there are many important people who are concerned about the Qunari influence in Kirkwall. I can understand their concerns, perhaps I even share them, but entrusting your son's safety to cut-throat mercenaries seems like quite the political gambit. But perhaps I am just not cut out for politics.

We hightailed it to the Wounded Coast, where Bran had directed us. Unfortunately for Saemus and his qunari companion, the Winters beat us to it. Ginnis had slain Saemus's friend, whose name-slash-rank was Ashaad. When I asked Fenris about it on the way back to Kirkwall, he said that ashaad means scout — literally a "soldier who seeks" in the Qunari tongue. It matched up with Saemus's explanation that he'd met and accompanied Ashaad on his task to map the Wounded Coast for the Arishok.

As an aside, why would the Arishok want a military scout to make a map of the Kirkwall coastline, I wonder? Aren't the sailor's charts available in the cartographer shops good enough? It makes me uneasy to think of his motives.

Saemus was beside himself with grief. It seemed that he had been quite attached to Ashaad, and had been with him willingly. It did not even appear that Saemus had resisted when Ginnis found them. He cursed her in Qunari, calling her a "vashedan" bitch. (Fenris said it translated to "garbage or trash," which I found rather fitting, as she looked filthy, and quite like a rabid dog — no insult meant to rabid dogs.) She, in turn, threatened to cut out Saemus's tongue. We intervened with his blessing, then had to fight off the rest of The Winters mercenary band as they arrived to find their leader and fellows piled at our feet.

It was a bloody fight. Fenris and Aveline were both forces to be reckoned with, but even with their assistance it was a narrow thing. Varric provided a good amount of cover fire, so I stayed near Fenris so Aveline could keep him and Bianca from being cut to ribbons. Once again, not having seen Fenris fight recently, I was more than a little in awe of him. He seemed to expend all his pent-up frustrations and fury on The Winters, with more still to spare when the battle was won. Yet he was so controlled and focused. I never had to duck or throw myself out of his way. It was like he knew always where I was, there just in time to block a flanking blow, or to cover me as I fell back from the longswordsmen. I really need to practice with him so I can brush up my skills against fighters with long reach.

Saemus, overcome with grief and horror, spent a good part of the battle cowering and averting his eyes. I give him credit for not retching or soiling himself, but for the son of a viscount he was rather shaken up by the whole ordeal. You just expect the heir to the throne of Kirkwall to be made of sterner stuff. But Saemus seems scarcely older than Bethany, and he had probably never witnessed so much death up close before. He likely thought us the strange ones for maintaining our composure.

On the way back to Kirkwall, he explained his fascination with the Qunari and the certainty of the Qun. He said he was intrigued by Ashaad's disregard of his rank, how he'd treated Saemus like a nobody. I had visions of Saemus trailing along behind the hulking man like a little puppy, begging for scraps. From Saemus's words, it was clear that he felt he was a disappointment to his father, the viscount, and that he'd run away many times before in search of some other meaning to his life.

I tried to feel sorry for him, but it's difficult to pity someone so rich and powerful. Still, he seemed sweet, if a bit… idealistic and lost. He was gracious, if resigned, about returning to the viscount with us. It felt rather like leading a man to the executioner.

I managed to engage Fenris in a conversation about the Qunari just long enough to get him to translate 'ashaad' and 'vashedan' before he clammed up again. He would scarce look at me, then took the lead on the road back to Kirkwall. Not that I'm complaining — I would follow him anywhere, if you catch my meaning.

I hope he is all right. I don't dare pry into his thoughts, not when we've just reconciled. I'm going to endeavor to be supportive, so I can be there when he wishes to talk. It's rather like dancing on a floor littered with caltrops — but I'm a good dancer, and I know my way around caltrops. Now that I know there is nothing between him and Isabela, he will not shake me off so easily. Not again.

After I made my pretty speech to the viscount about how delivering Saemus safely home was my pleasure, then graciously bowed out of their argument over the Qunari influence, we came back to The Hanged Man to relax. Aveline stayed at the keep to write up a report about the incident with The Winters, the Qunari and Saemus.

Soon, we will need to go seek out this Chantry sister Varric's heard about. She's been poking around Lowtown for a few nights now, making less than discreet inquiries about hiring undesirables. We think it best to investigate, get her to go away. Hopefully we can find her before someone less respectable sticks a blade through her holy back.

* * *

"Look at all those pages you've filled," Bethany said as Hawke was finishing her final paragraph. "I want to come with you tonight," she declared suddenly. "I don't want to go back home or wait here for you again. I feel like I'm missing out on all the adventure."

Hawke shook her head. "I don't think it wise, Bethany. If this woman really is a Chantry sister, it could wind up involving the Templars. We must think of your safety."

Fenris swirled wine around in his cup, apparently inattentive, and Varric stayed out of the conversation, continuing to tweak Bianca's mechanisms.

"She's just a sister, Marian — there is nothing to fear from them. I got to know a few of the sisters in Lothering, if you recall. They love and serve the Maker and Andraste, just like all of us — it's the templars who focus on mages." Hawke did not object as her sister continued, but her expression was still concerned. "I got a very kind letter just the other day from Sister Ursula from Lothering, responding to my inquiry about Tamra and her family," Bethany explained. Then she frowned at Hawke's continued silence. "If I'm going to be locked up all the time, I may as well be in the Circle."

Fenris nodded then, though Hawke had thought his attention elsewhere. "Don't say that," she told her sister, shooting Fenris an irritated glance. Her face softened as she looked back to Bethany. "I know you hate it, and I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"But it doesn't!" Bethany replied.

Hawke sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. Guilt gnawed at her, seeing the hurt expression on Bethany's face. "All right. I suppose there's no harm in taking you with us this once. Just stay close." Bethany smiled, nodding eagerly.

Hawke started to close her journal, but Fenris leaned forward and put a hand on it, stopping her. She looked up at him curiously as, with his other hand, he plucked out a rolled up piece of parchment from somewhere behind his back. He placed it on top of her open journal. Then he looked away as he slumped back into his usual languid posture, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What's this then?" she asked with a surprised laugh.

"I pulled it down as we passed through the Hightown market. To replace the one I… destroyed," he said. "I apologize for that."

She picked up the rolled notice, grinning as she pointed it at him playfully . "You just don't want me to badmouth you to my descendants, when I tell them the story of how I came to meet the viscount."

"Perhaps." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still unhappy with the thought of Hawke raising a family with some as-yet-unknown man.

"What's that then?" Varric asked, glancing up from giving Bianca a test ratcheting.

"Fenris has graciously swiped another of the viscount's notices for me — a memento of my service to His Excellency, for posterity. As you may recall, someone mangled and then _burned_ the other one last night." She smirked at Fenris as she smoothed the notice open. "Barely a crease in it. How admirable. There is hope for you yet." One corner of his mouth twitched up into a wry smile.

Varric cocked his head as he looked down at the unfurled parchment. "Uh, I hate to break it to you two… but that's not the viscount's notice."

"Hmm?" she asked distractedly, still holding Fenris's gaze, a flirtatious, bemused smile on her lips. She reluctantly turned to look at Varric, then down at the paper she held flat. Her brow furrowed. "What… is this?"

The blood drained from Fenris's face and he looked away, hiding a grimace.

She began to read silently, pursing her lips. "You must have nabbed the wrong notice in your haste, Fenris," she said as her eyes scanned the page. Then she groaned. "No. I'm not doing it. Not again — no more delays." Her squeezed her eyes shut, and her head lolled over the backrest of the chair. She tossed the parchment down, her frustration evident.

The notice coiled back up on itself, rolling across the table to stop between Fenris and Bethany. Fenris kept his face averted from it, alternately panicking and fuming inwardly. Bethany regarded him nervously before picking it up herself, as if she was afraid he'd snatch it away.

She read it aloud. "'Reward Offered! Citizens of Kirkwall: My dear wife, Ninette, has gone missing! I shall reward the person who returns her safely. Questions about the bounty or Ninette? Come speak to me in the Hightown Market. Signed, Ghyslain de Carrac.' Oh the poor man! We must help him, Marian." She looked at her sister, but Hawke was still staring at the ceiling, shaking her head. Bethany turned to Varric, pleading, "Surely it's worth looking into. We can't just leave something like this until after the Deep Roads. What if it was Bartrand missing!"

Varric rubbed at his chin. "I might put up a notice to reward whoever _took_ him…"

Bethany's lips pressed into a thin line, and she turned to Fenris. "What do you think?" He shrugged, his movements stiff and severe. "Doesn't anyone care about this poor woman but me?" she asked the room at large.

Hawke lifted her head, looking at her sister with a sigh. "For all we know, she's not even missing. Saemus Dumar certainly wasn't." She pointed at the parchment, frowning accusingly. "And are _all_ the nobles going to start doing that now that the viscount's pasted his own notice everywhere?" She snorted. "Nobility and their fads. Nobody uses the Chanters' Board anymore! Why do they even bother to have the damn thing?"

"Marian…" Bethany began to plead, but Hawke held up a hand.

"Yes, yes, all right. I need to go take the coin and Deep Roads maps to Bartrand tomorrow anyway. That means passing through the Hightown market, so I may as well stop in to speak with… Gilzen de Crackpot, or whatever his name was. Orlesians do love their ugly names…"

Fenris gave her a guarded glance, and Hawke noticed the worry and unease in his eyes. She offered him a reassuring smile. "I didn't really want to save the viscount's notice — I was just teasing you last night. But it was a sweet gesture, and much appreciated. Thank you."

He blinked. Then he gave her a small nod, relaxing somewhat. "Do you not like Orlesian names?" he asked, wanting to change the subject. "I understand that Aveline dislikes her own, though I see nothing wrong with it."

She laughed. "Yes, I overheard you two discussing that on the way out to the coast. But I think she hates the baggage her name carries, not really the sound of it. Well done by the way, not asking her to relate the story of Ser Aveline." She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she considered his original question. "I don't know. Some Orlesian names are nice, but for every Aveline, or Anais, or Lucien, there's a Blanchfleur, or a Jaques-Jean-Louis." She pronounced the names with such an exaggerated Orlesian accent that Bethany began to giggle and Varric laughed. Even Fenris chuckled, to her amazement.

A spark of hope flared in her, so she continued, pitching her voice ever so slightly lower. "What about you, Fenris? Other than thinking Aveline's name is good and strong, what do you think of Orlesian names?"

He blinked again, taken by surprise that she had been listening that closely to his words as he conversed with Aveline earlier in the day. He gave her a rare smile, and when he responded, his own voice was deeper too, laced with a hint of seduction. "It depends. Is your name Orlesian?"

She raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Ooh, what a clever, courtly answer. Mmm, you really are learning fast." He picked up his winecup, taking a small, tantalizing sip as he continued to watch her. "By coincidence, it is. I believe it means "little rebel," or something like that. Imagine, me, a rebel." She leaned forward in her chair, towards him.

"By the by, you _can_ call me Marian, you know." Hawke gave him her best smoldering smile then, discreetly brushing the tip of her boot against his toes. She felt them wiggle. She tried to hold his eye even though she knew a flush must be rising to her cheeks.

"Perhaps I'm saving that for a special occasion." His voice was serious, but she recognized the hint of teasing in it, and could see the lingering heat in his gaze.

She swallowed hard, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. _Keeps me on my toes indeed… at least I can never accuse our relationship of lacking excitement._

She picked up her cup of wine, raising it and inclining her head to him in toast. "Now whenever you call me Hawke, I will think on what I have to look forward to. Thank you again… _Fenris_." She poured as much seduction as she dared into saying his name, with Varric and her sister listening in. It must have been enough, because Fenris actually flushed, looking away. He hastily saluted with his cup in return, and together they both took a swallow of wine.

_Down, girl. Don't scare him off just when things are starting to look up. _She glanced up at the high windows. "It's dark," she announced, a little mournfully. "Shall we go find our wayward Chantry sister then?"

They all began to drain their drinks, collect weapons, and stand, but Fenris hesitated, slowly finishing his wine.

_Hadriana… fish… Danarius… the Archon's Keep… the Arishok… abominations… Anders… _he thought, tamping down his arousal as he called each unpleasant picture to mind. Finally he stood, pretending to brush off his armor as he discreetly tugged at it. He followed the others through the crowded taproom and out into Lowtown, studiously averting his gaze from Hawke and her familiar swagger which seemed even more appealing than usual tonight.

_Surely she wasn't trying to… not in front of her sister and Varric. No, I have no experience, and I'm allowing myself to get carried away. Yes, it is just more of the madness that claimed me last night. Besides, I have no idea about the courtship customs here. Or anywhere, for that matter. Her foot just accidentally bumped mine. I have big feet. And the conversation was just harmless banter. She teases everyone. _

_Focus. Control. Be ready. Stay vigilant._

As he walked, bringing up the rear, Fenris readjusted his armor, still feeling a bit uncomfortable and raw. Doggedly, he chased away errant thoughts of Hawke. He redoubled his efforts to focus, easing his greatsword in its sheath, just in case he would need to draw it soon.

As they searched Lowtown, he found his mind wandering back to the song, 'In Uthenera.' He was startled to realize he could play the melody out in his head in its entirety, despite hearing only a short strain of it hummed by Hawke just that morning. He puzzled over this fact, but he did so obliquely, not wanting to come at the memory head on, lest the remembrance of the ritual overtake him again.

_At least it gives me something to think about other than her, though it is nearly as unfathomable and maddening._

* * *

In the years ahead, when Fenris would come to fully remember the Elvish song and its significance, he sometimes reflected back on how fitting it was that a song of mourning played in his mind that night — the last night before Hawke and her family's world would begin to come apart, thanks to the chance encounter with Sister Petrice and Ser Varnell, and that damned notice that eventually led her to a madman.


	23. Interlude: No Rest for the Weary, Part 1

**A/N: **It's killing me to not able to just let these two have some time off, but I suppose we can all take heart that a relationship forged in fire is stronger for it. Or something!

I hope everyone is still enjoying the story as we are drawing to the close of Act I. This one is a two-part interlude, and I hope to have the second part up within a day. *fingers crossed* Thanks again for all the reviews; I read, appreciate and cherish each one!

BioWare owns all, even my little homage to Garrus/ME2.

* * *

"Oooh, there's a belt in this one," Hawke said, then reached into the barrel. She went up on the tips of her toes, scrabbling for it. "Blighted… deep…. bastard…" As her curses echoed up from somewhere within the wooden container, she thrust one foot into the air for balance and leaned further in. She flailed for a moment, and both she and the barrel teetered, then her fingers finally snagged the belt by its buckle.

Fenris felt his hands start to sweat as he watched her, all shapely legs, thighs and buttocks, bent over rummaging that way. "Must you go through _every_ barrel, sack and crate we come across?" he asked, voice thick with frustration.

She straightened, triumphantly holding the belt aloft. "I don't check all of them, just the promising ones." She walked over to a torch and cast a critical eye over the belt. "Nothing I'd want to wear, but it should fetch a decent price." She turned to Fenris as she tucked it away, adding, "You see? If I didn't look, we'd miss out on all sorts of coin. Or nicer things, like your amulet."

He put a hand over his chest at the mention of the wolf pendant she had given him, and she smiled softly. He let his hand drop back down, trying to keep control of himself. "It would save time to just tip the barrels over, Hawke. Or have me retrieve whatever you find," he explained. "I have longer arms than you."

She walked towards him, out of the pool of torchlight. "You may have reach, Fenris, but I have… flexibility." She lifted her arms over her head, fingers intertwined, and gave a long, spine-bending stretch. Despite the darkness, his keen eyes could just make out her smirk, and a glint in her eye. Then, she yawned.

_How am I supposed to take that?_ he wondered. _I'm at least as flexible as she. Everyone knows elves are dexterous. Does that mean she does not want my help? Or… _She strutted past him, slowly lowering her arms. Her fingertips nearly brushed down his steel chestplate, and the familiar scent of leather, soap and just… her wafted past his nose. He shook his head, trying to regain his train of thought. _This maddening… attraction has me seeing double meanings in everything she does or says. I still cannot trust myself around her. I must remain focused on the task at hand._

Resolved not to fidget, Fenris flexed his fingers instead, the sharp claws of his gloves rasping against his armored palms. He grimly fell in beside her, and together they walked up the street to where Varric and Bethany were searching the other alleyways. They were checking behind The Hanged Man now, and Fenris could faintly hear the harbor sounds coming up from the stairway to the docks. He focused on listening for anything suspicious, imposing upon himself an aloof, detached state of mind that was free of distractions.

"Anything?" Hawke asked Varric.

The dwarf shook his head. "We've checked the market, the Alienage, back here… you'd think she'd stick to districts where there were more people."

"Maybe she's gone," Hawke said, giving another yawn. "I'm getting sleepy... we've been up since dawn. Well, most of us." She smirked at Fenris, but he ignored her. "Can't we just forget about this?" she asked of no one in particular.

Fenris's ears strained, tuning out the talking, scuffling and creaking armor of his companions. Finally, he heard footsteps in the distance. "Coin for skill on offer. I need someone of… flexible talents and secrecy," a woman's voice said faintly.

"There." Fenris pointed towards an open area, up a short flight of steps on the far side of the building housing The Hanged Man. Hawke perked up and nodded, leading the way without hesitation. He stayed at her side, and Varric and Bethany followed behind.

A woman with short, blond hair in Chantry robes stood in the middle of a square outside of the foundry district. "Will no one show their good will? I can pay good coin to the kind-hearted," she called into the darkness, voice echoing and eyes darting as she turned to look around the small square.

A brutish man with a long, braided mustache was swaggering up behind her as they approached. Hawke halted their group in the shadows, raising a tight fist signaling to hold in silence. They all observed the exchange.

"Here, miss. Word is, you're looking for help and paying well," the man said.

The sister turned to face him, looking excited. "I need someone native to the dark places beneath Lowtown. If you claim as much, yes, I will pay."

He made an expansive gesture, chuckling. "I am, I am. Let's just step into this alley, and me and my fellows can have a look at the money on offer."

The Chantry sister inclined her head, then followed alongside the man as he guided her around the corner. Hawke's companions didn't even exchange glances. They all knew the narrow street behind the foundries was often deserted at night, what with only a few of the foundry workers on duty to keep the fires alive until morning.

"She has chosen poorly," Fenris said simply.

Hawke shook her head, pursing her lips. "Can you save someone so intent on being foolish?" But she followed after the pair.

Fenris pulled out his greatsword. Bethany's spear-like staff had been in her hands since they left the tavern, and he could hear the click of Varric's crossbow. Hawke already had her daggers out too, though he hadn't heard her draw her weapons. They came upon the group of thugs shortly, surrounding the sister who was now wide-eyed with surprise. The brutish man was menacing her with a cudgel.

He whirled as their group approached. "Don't like interruptions, not when this mark is so promising," he growled. "Get them!"

Fenris advanced and casually struck the man down. The sister fled behind the thugs to the far side of the alley, huddling near some steps leading up to one of the foundries. She was not far from Varric and Bethany, but the knot of ruffians cut her off from reaching them.

The rest of the men charged Hawke, shying away from Fenris as they saw their leader fall. One man ran ahead of the rest, raising a rusty greatsword far over his head as he rushed her. A bolt of ice took him in the chest. Hawke looked taken aback, but then she kicked him in the groin, sending him crumpling to the ground.

"Marian!" Bethany called anxiously.

"Don't worry, Fenris and I do this all the time," Hawke said with a laugh. She spun away towards Fenris, slashing at the arms of another thug and taking the man by surprise as she fell back. Injured, the man dropped his sword with a howl before one of Varric's bolts took him in the chest, silencing him. Bethany nervously eyed the Chantry sister who trembled nearby, then cracked the man Hawke had kicked over the head with her staff, avoiding the further use of magic.

Fenris moved smoothly to guard Hawke as she slipped past him. The men who had charged her all found themselves facing him now, and several of them pulled up short. He growled in challenge, his hands tightening their grip on his greatsword. "If you want a fight, I am more than willing," he said darkly, eager for an outlet for his pent-up emotions. The braver ones lunged for him, attacking as one clustered force.

Hawke, meanwhile, passed quietly behind him to flank the group. She slashed the throat of one man as he backed away from Fenris, then engaged a second who was advancing on Bethany. Varric continued to assail any open target he could find, plunking bolt after bolt into the thinning crowd of thugs.

Fenris found himself facing six. With one sweep of his sword, he took down two of them. He glided forward one step, then swept his long blade back in the other direction, taking down a third, and forcing the others to spread out. With his long arms and longer greatsword, they could not even get near him. He grinned at the right-most man, then charged him, slicing upward with his blade. The man screamed as his sword arm was suddenly hacked off, and he collapsed to die a quick but agonized death. With smooth grace, Fenris pivoted slightly and brought his weapon down again, onto the middle man. He took him just between the neck and shoulder, and this fortunate miscreant died instantly.

Fenris nimbly pulled his sword free and fell back a pace, rotating his grip, turning his blade on edge in preparation to finish off the third and last thug by cleaving his head from his shoulders. But he paused as he saw the man standing stiffly, eyes wide with surprise. The thug's open, empty hands twitched as his daggers clattered to the ground. He fell to his knees, then slumped soundlessly to the side, revealing a crouched Hawke.

"Beat you to it. But I think you still got the most kills." She gave him a dangerous smile as she wiped her daggers on the back of the man's shirt, then she sheathed both blades at once with a flourish.

Fenris growled as she stood, struggling to release the bloodlust into which he'd poured all his frustrations. "He was within my grasp. Why did you interfere?" he asked hotly.

"You need to be more flexible, Fenris," she teased. "We're a team, remember?"

Fenris decided not to press the subject, holding stubbornly onto his anger._ At least being upset with her is far more effective than pining. _He leaned down to wipe his own blade off, then roughly sheathed it, scowling.

Hawke just kept grinning at him until the Chantry sister approached. Then she turned to face the woman.

"Well, thank you for your timely interruption. I am… out of my element," the sister said.

Her gray eyes, and pointy, severe face reminded Fenris of a badger. He'd encountered one among the roots of a large oak tree when he'd accidentally tried to sleep too close to its burrow. He had stopped to rest after traveling for two days straight, trying to evade Danarius's hunters by crossing the Minater River into Tantervale. The hunters, he had eventually killed… but he'd run from the badger.

"Surely you didn't realize that just now," Hawke responded, raising one eyebrow.

"I had to come here to get the type of person I need," the sister explained. "Someone of bloody skill, but also integrity. Perhaps the kind who might leap to someone's defense." She looked at the bodies around them, then gave Hawke's group an appraising look. "I have a charge who needs passage from the city. If you are willing and capable, meet me at my safehouse nearby." The sister pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Hawke, who took it without glancing at it.

"I just saved you in an alley, and suddenly we're in business?" she asked, tone both incredulous and a little annoyed.

The sister pursed her lips. "You're in Lowtown. What grand scheme could I be interrupting?" She looked past them all, then called out, "Varnell!" She glanced at Bethany as a templar approached from behind.

Varnell — Ser Varnell — moved to stand by the Chantry sister. His eyes were hard, and he regarded them all with hostility and suspicion. Fenris wrinkled his nose at the faint smell of blood, lyrium and death trailing the templar. It reminded him too much of Danarius.

Bethany moved to her sister's side, leaning in to whisper something to her. With his sensitive ears, Fenris heard her ask, "Why is a templar guarding her? Is this a setup?" Even in his agitated state, he felt a slight prick of concern.

_The last thing we need is to kill a templar, and the very sister we wanted to run off to avoid further scrutiny. If she truly wants to protect Bethany, I hope Hawke realizes we must avoid bloodshed. _His scowl deepened.

Sister Petrice gave Hawke and Bethany a tight smile. "I hope you will come. This matter only grows more urgent with time." She led Ser Varnell away, and Hawke's eyes narrowed as she watched them go.

They all waited in silence for a minute. Then Hawke looked at Fenris.

"Are they gone?"

He nodded, having carefully listened to their footsteps fade away. He never took anyone's departure for granted now, having been surprised and betrayed by bribed innkeepers, serving girls, farmers, merchants, and anyone else around him the bounty hunters could turn with coin or coercion.

Hawke faced Bethany, grim. "That ice bolt you cast. Did she see it? Did she see it came from you?" Her voice was steady, but Fenris knew her too well now, and could hear the edge of panic lacing her words.

Bethany shrugged helplessly. "I… I honestly don't know. She had her face turned. That man came at you with that huge sword, so I just… panicked. I'm sorry…"

Hawke pulled her sister into an embrace, patting her on the back. "Don't apologize. You saved my life. Whatever would become of me without you, dear Bethany?"

Fenris kept his expression neutral at her lie. He knew that the man Hawke had kicked had over-extended his strike, and that she had been perfectly capable of slipping past his guard to take advantage of that mistake. If anything, Bethany's ice bolt slowed the idiot down, giving him time to actually complete the blow despite his blunder. It had thrown off Hawke's counter-attack, and forced her to disable him with a kick instead of killing him outright. He knew full well Hawke knew it too, for not only was she was skilled, but he'd seen her hesitate before performing the compensating maneuver.

_Why does she lie? Wouldn't her sister benefit more from being corrected? _

_And why did she bring her when she feared this very thing would happen? I do not understand. It is incomprehensible why they would risk each other's safety just to… accompany one another. Is it not better to be alone but alive, and free?_

_But I do not understand why she struggles to keep Bethany out of the Circle either. I'll admit, Bethany is a sweet and gentle person, even principled, for a mage. Yet, is that not all the more reason to keep her out of fights like this one, out of danger? To ensure that she is somewhere safe, where she can be watched and guarded, such as the Circle?_

Fenris had turned many of these questions over and over in his mind since he'd met Hawke, but he still could not make any sense of it. He felt he understood Hawke a little less each time she defended mages, or did something baffling like this.

Hawke released Bethany and peered down at the bit of paper the Chantry sister had given her.

"Balls." She raked one hand through her hair in frustration.

"What?" asked Varric. She handed him the paper, and he frowned at it. "Isn't this house across from your uncle's? I didn't hear about this."

Bethany's eyes went wide, and she quailed visibly. "Oh Maker. Andraste preserve us. It really is a trap. A templar and a sister in a hideout across from our home? It can't be a coincidence. It _can't_." She looked at Hawke, then at Varric. Finally she gave Fenris a frightened, meaningful glance.

Fenris shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly remembering the promise Bethany had extracted from him on the way to the Bone Pit, almost two weeks ago. To stop Hawke from doing anything foolish if Bethany should be captured — which effectively meant stopping her from doing anything at all.

His heart clenched with a sudden realization. _Hawke would never forgive me. _His gaze flicked to her, but he held fast to his anger and confusion to avoid letting the uncomfortable thoughts take hold of him. _This would all go easier if she didn't refuse to see magic for what it is.  
_

She was contemplating, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "No…" she said, piecing matters together slowly in her mind. "If they'd been planning something, she wouldn't have let herself be distracted by those thugs. They would have come at us from some other angle. Something strange is afoot, but it has naught to do with Bethany. It is just some... twist of fate. And it must be dealt with."

"I still don't like it," Varric said, "but I can see why you probably want to check it out, since it's literally a little too close to home."

"Bethany should go back to your uncle's house," Fenris said. "It is not safe to bring her."

Bethany started to nod, but Hawke shook her head once, violently. "No! That is the last thing we should do." She walked over to Fenris, meeting his eyes resolutely. "If we show up there without her, they will think something amiss. If they had even the slightest suspicion about her, that would confirm it."

Fenris looked into her eyes, seeing the fierce protectiveness and concern in them. He was reminded of how she'd looked at him just the day before, when he'd accused her of using him as a slave. He felt his emotional barriers slipping, but rather than soften, he summoned up his familiar well of cold fury.

"So we will kill the templar and the sister, then? Or will you leave Kirkwall?" he asked. His voice sounded harsh, but he didn't actually know why he was upset.

_Those are her only options. And yet it seems like nothing good can come of this.  
_

_I would kill those who hunted me. Why shouldn't she? Yet templars perform an important duty, and Bethany belongs in the Circle. But there is a whole army of templars here... so she should flee then. _

_Although... I would likely never see her again. _His agitation grew, and he suddenly wanted to be fighting. His hands flexed, as if itching for his greatsword. Having no enemies to kill, he drew instead from the deep well of cold fury inside himself, crystallizing his thoughts.

_It is always like this with her — I feel pulled in two directions at once, while also carried along in her wake. Why can I never be in her presence long before it seems the entire world is turned on its ear? _

_Venhedis. Perhaps it would be best if she had to leave._

Hawke gave him a long look. "No," she said, still searching his face. "We go do this escort job, and act like nothing is out of the ordinary. We defend Bethany if it comes to that, but it won't, because the sister is clearly caught up in her own little plot. Doing her job gives her and her templar something else to focus on. And gets them to leave."

Fenris blinked, and his face went impassive as he realized her plan made some sense. It had not occurred to him to just… deal with the sister and templar. Only to flee or fight. He clenched his jaw, refusing to acknowledge the flood of relief that threatened to wash away his coldness. "I see."

Her face softened. "I know. You're not used to dealing with things in this way. Being alone…" She shook her head forlornly. Then she smiled at him. "But I've been doing this for a long time — fooling templars, flying in the face of Chantry establishment, tempting fate. Trust me."

Fenris felt an uneasy tingle in his gut, despite her confidence. "Be careful, Hawke. Everyone runs afoul of fate eventually. The Qunari have a saying — _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun._ 'Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.'" She frowned, but he continued. "No matter how hard you try, the world will go on whether you are right or wrong, whether you win or lose. In the end, existing is the only real choice open to us."

"And I _intend_ to keep existing for a long, long time. With my sister, free of the Circle," she said, giving him a consternated glare. "Was that supposed to make me feel better? Or are you _trying_ to make me cross? Maker, I am too tired for this right now..." She looked at Bethany, cocking her head at Fenris. "You see what I mean?" Then she snorted, and began to escort her sister in the direction of their neighborhood.

Fenris fumed silently, but at least he now found it easier to keep his feelings for Hawke under wraps.

"I still don't like this," Varric muttered under his breath as Fenris fell in beside him.

"Nor I," he growled, "but we have little choice. She is right, this must be dealt with in one fashion or another, I fear."

They walked in silence then, except for Hawke who was giving a stream of whispered instructions to Bethany. Her sister was nodding, looking a little more confident with each step as Hawke bolstered her with reassuring words.

* * *

Within minutes, they reached the door of the house specified in the Chantry sister's note. Fenris looked over his shoulder, frowning to see that it indeed was directly across from Hawke's own. Hawke took a deep breath, then confidently shouldered through the door. Bethany, Fenris and Varric filed in behind her. Ser Varnell was crouched in a defensive stance, longsword drawn — again the smell of death and lyrium filled Fenris's nostrils.

"Nice to see you too," Hawke said to the templar dismissively, as the sister appeared from another chamber.

Fenris looked around, idly noting that the layout of this near-empty hovel was the same as Hawke's uncle's house. It reminded him greatly of the slaves' quarters in the Imperium, though it was a small wonder, since nearly all of Kirkwall was Imperium-built.

"I thank you for coming. The matter is delicate, and I need someone of… limited notoriety who will not link this to me," the sister explained, clasping her hands together. Ser Varnell put away his sword, but Hawke still narrowed her eyes. "It is an escort, but I think you will agree, the nature of the party makes this… unique."

"Time is wasting," Hawke said, all business. "Who is going where?" She smirked, raising an eyebrow at Varnell and then the sister, as if expecting to hear they were eloping, disposing of a dead body, or something equally scandalous.

Varnell just scowled, but the sister put out one hand, palm up in a gesture of peace. "My name is Sister Petrice. I have assumed a burden of charity." Petrice gestured with her hand to someone in the other room. "This is my charge."

A hulking Qunari emerged from the side room. He wore a long skirt, fastened with a wide leather belt. His chest was bare, painted with ceremonial red designs. Most distinctively, he had a massive collar on, secured with several thick, heavy gold chains that wrapped under his arms, preventing him from lifting it from his shoulders. His horns had been cut off, and he wore a gold mask over his face. The eyes of the mask had bars, as if to cage him even further. The bottom half mask must have broken away, because it was just jagged metal. It revealed that his lips were sewn roughly together with uneven stitches that pierced his face.

Fenris felt all his hair stand on end as he recognized the qunari for what it was — a saarebas, one of their mages. His hands itched to rub at his own shoulders and throat, to reassure himself that he no longer wore a collar. But he suppressed the urge through sheer force of will.

Bethany gasped, and Fenris glanced over at her. She had one hand to her mouth in horror, but the unease in his stomach grew when he observed Varnell scrutinizing her closely. He forced himself to look back at the qunari, deciding to play this situation by Hawke's rules.

"A saarebas? Here?" he asked. He was genuinely curious, but also he hoped to distract Varnell and Petrice with his knowledge. _They will never expect an elf like me to know of the Qunari mages… if they even know of it themselves,_ he thought wryly.

"Would even a templar bind a mage like this?" Petrice said eagerly. "A survivor of infighting with their Tal-Vashoth outcasts. I call him 'Ketojan,' a bridge between worlds." She looked up at the saarebas, at Ketojan, her eyes glimmering with hope.

"The viscount, and others, feel that peace begins with appeasement. This mage would likely be returned to his brutal kin. He can serve a better purpose." She looked to Hawke, who had been mutely awaiting explanation. Though Hawke looked outwardly calm, Fenris could almost feel the unease rolling off her in waves. "I want him free. He must be guided from the city without alerting his people, or being seen in my care."

"You don't just stumble on something…" Hawke hesitated, "_someone_ like this."

"For all their blasphemous certainty, the Qunari do have deserters. Those who seek freedom are hunted mercilessly," Petrice said.

Hawke nodded. "Tal-Vashoth." Then she shrugged. "We've fought them. They seem to accept the role."

Fenris nearly smiled as Petrice recoiled ever so slightly in shock, looking at both him and Hawke as if seeing them for the first time. _Yes, holy woman. We are not so stupid as you wish to believe us. We are no simpletons, just bought from the slave markets._

"Even their rebels conform," she said, after recovering herself. "Ser Varnell observed one of their bloody exchanges. This poor mage was the only survivor."

"And you think this mage was being hunted?" Hawke said.

"I am certain no thinking creature would willingly submit to this." Petrice's brow furrowed as she regarded Ketojan, pointedly eying his heavy collar and chains, the mask, his sewn lips. "If he was not running before, he has seized the opportunity now."

Fenris suspected he knew better, but he remained silent.

Hawke's lips pursed. "If you are so intent on this, why not use Chantry resources?"

"My order will soon realize the Qunari presence is more than a test of faith — it is an open challenge," the sister declared defiantly. Then she reined herself in. "But for now, I must act on my own. Helping this mage shows how Qunari heresy cannot be ignored. His flight is vital."

"Is freedom so helpful?" Hawke asked, gesturing concernedly at Ketojan's shoulders. "A new life with that collar seems doubtful."

The Chantry sister shrugged. "And yet it is more than he has. My reach is limited. His struggle is his own."

Again Fenris had to stop himself from chuckling. _'His struggle is his own?' The saarebas struggles not at all, he just stands there. That, more than anything, indicates he still follows the Qun.  
_

Hawke was shaking her head, unconvinced as well. "It just seems like releasing a bird, cage and all." Her eyes flicked to Fenris, then away again.

"We do what we can to step toward what is right," Petrice chanted. "That must be enough."

Hawke eyed Ketojan for a long moment before turning back to the sister. "Will he help? If I trust him at all…"

The sister just shrugged. "I don't know his capabilities, or if he can function at all in that collar. But I think he knows we are his only way out."

"You _think_?" Hawke asked, suspicious.

Petrice sighed. "He has followed every direction, and made no aggressive moves even when taunted." She glanced at Ser Varnell, but the templar just kept staring menacingly at their group. "Were I in his place," Petrice continued, looking back at them, "I could have fled. Qunari or not, I can only assume he wants to be led to freedom."

Hawke snorted. "And if you're wrong, I have to deal with it."

"That is why I went to Lowtown," the sister said, rather testily for a woman of the church. "You are either capable of the discretion and skill that I need or you are not."

Hawke crossed her arms at the woman's tone. "You're not interested in who you might be hiring?"

"If you were important enough to know, I would need someone else." Hawke bristled visibly at that remark, but Petrice went on as if she didn't notice or care. Probably both. "But if you insist: What is your family name?"

Fenris looked at Hawke, wondering if she would lie. "My name is Hawke," she said truthfully. Bethany fidgeted beside her.

"Strong. Very… Fereldan." Sister Petrice seemed to be straining to make it sound like a compliment. "The Qunari have hardly pressured the southern nations. You have not seen as many converts, or those who refused. If this action — if any action — can lessen their influence, it must be done."

"I've had dealings with the Qunari leader," Hawke said, lifting her chin into the air. Fenris wanted either to chuckle or roll his eyes at the stubborn pride of the woman — he just wasn't sure which. "He'd want to know of this," she said confidently.

"You… have dealt with their leader?" Again, Sister Petrice look rattled. Ser Varnell shot her a smug look that made Fenris narrow his eyes. It took her a moment, but Petrice recovered her composure. "If you have interacted with the Qunari, you know how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature." She tapped her lip thoughtfully, and, out of the corner of his eye, Fenris saw Varnell's sword hand flexing. He readied himself for betrayal. "But knowing them is useful," the sister finally said, without seeming to signal anything her templar. "If they challenged you, attacking an ally would only confirm their barbarism. You are still right for the task."

Hawke turned to face her companions, glancing at Fenris. He gave her a hint of a shrug, keeping his face impassive. As she consulted with Varric and Bethany, he listened in, but kept an eye on Varnell, Petrice and Ketojan.

"We must help this poor creature. He has faced worse than what I run from," Bethany whispered.

"Maybe I'm out of line for saying this, but not starting a war with the giants camped in our city seems like a wise move," Varric countered, adding hastily, "Sorry, Sunshine."

"I want to agree with you Varric, but we need Petrice to go away and not come back. I don't see any other way, other than to do as she asks." Hawke straightened, then leaned over to Fenris. "Do you truly have no input, Fenris? You know more of the Qunari than any of us." Her breath felt hot on his ear, and the sensation of it made his eyes want to slide shut. Instead he stiffly shook his head a fraction. "All right. I suppose we stick to the plan then. I see no way out of this but forward."

She turned back to Petrice. "I can get him out of Kirkwall. He's a bit conspicuous for the streets, though."

Sister Petrice looked predatory for a moment, then she smiled. "That is obviously not an option," she agreed. "You must avoid incident with the guards… I cannot be linked to this. This mage will be a fine example of how cruel Qunari are, even to their own. But only if this plays out just so." Wringing her hands, she inclined her head to the back room. "The passage there leads to the warrens of the Undercity, around the guard. It is dangerous, but that is why you were hired."

Hawke nodded to her, then approached the silent qunari. "Ketojan, is it? You need to be led out of the city?"

Ketojan turned his head in her direction but he did not look down at her. He was nearly a foot taller than her, so his eyes remained inscrutable behind the barred, metal mask. He growled.

Fenris was tall enough to examine the saarebas more closely, however. His skin crawled as he recognized an echo of his own past behind the mask. "The eyes of a slave. Does he want freedom, or a master?" His voice sounded disturbed, even to his own ears.

Ketojan growled some more.

"It has been difficult to get information," the sister said, stepping in, "but look at him. Would you want this? We must have that in common."

"Be ready, Ketojan," Hawke said, looking up again at the massive mage. Another low growl gurgled out of him, and she shook her head, despairing. Still, when she moved towards the back room, the qunari followed after her.

"I thank you for taking Ketojan," Petrice called. "I will pay upon your return. I know this may be a reluctant duty. Let us hope there are no unforeseen incidents. Good luck."

Hawke paused as she walked past Varnell, regarding him. Ketojan came to stop behind her, at her heels like a well-trained mabari. "Aren't you going to wish us good luck as well, ser knight?"

"She pities these things. I don't share her concern. With any luck, he'll make a good example. Do it or don't, but get out of my sight, Fereldan," the templar said brusquely.

Hawke raised a hand to her breast in feigned shock, then signaled for her group to follow. Fenris brought up the rear, giving both Petrice and Varnell one last glance. Sister Petrice's beady eyes stared back guardedly, but the templar had a look of raw disgust on his face. Fenris's held his breath at the man's stench, and he wondered what Varnell had been about this night.

_Maybe I should have urged Hawke to kill them after all. They both make my hands itch._

Fenris turned away finally, then went into the back room. As he lowered himself down through the trap door into the dank tunnel under the hovel, he felt unease stealing under his protective wall of anger, despite his most concerted efforts.


	24. Interlude: No Rest for the Weary, Part 2

**A/N: **Part two, as promised. I've also decided to add a part three, since things were getting way too long.

BioWare owns all, including the incredibly sad ending to this quest... :(**  
**

* * *

"Why are there always spiders?" Bethany wailed. She looked as if she was about to retch as she wiped green ichor from her cheek, using the striped kerchief she often wore tied around her neck.

"I think I got blood on my coat," Varric complained. "No, wait. Just spider poison. Because that's so much better..."

"Wait here," Hawke commanded, holding up a hand. She cast a critical eye up the stairs in front of them. "If I was a rogue, which I am, I'd put a trap somewhere up here for sure… and someone _has_ clearly been booby-trapping this entire tunnel. Let me go check it out." They all waited as she crept slowly forward, sweeping her gaze back and forth along the floor. Then she worked her way up the stairs, one by one, scrutinizing and testing each step carefully.

After a few minutes of this, Fenris grew curious and walked over to the side of the wooden stairway. Ketojan moved with him, then stopped when Fenris stopped, always keeping a respectful distance behind him. _He treats me as her honor guard, and takes his place following her by following me_, he noted._ Yes, the certainty of the Qun holds this one still._ "The mage seems indifferent to our struggles, even with his freedom as the prize," he warned Hawke.

"Shhh!" She glanced down at him from above, where she had paused crawling up the steps. She pursed her lips at him, but he could see that her eyes danced. "Your voice is too… rumbly. It could wind up setting off this trap."

Fenris raised an eyebrow, trying to peer up to see what she had found. _Rumbly? Is that... bad? It's just my voice. Does she dislike it? _He frowned, but kept his lips pressed together to keep from asking, lest he upset her concentration and get them all destroyed.

She pulled a small pair of shears out from her belt. She leaned in slowly with them, the tip of her pink tongue poking out from between her lips. Fenris watched her, bemused at the look of concentration on her face. She carefully snipped at something, then breathed a sigh of relief as she balanced back on the balls of her feet. She tucked away her tools and rose, dusting her hands off as she climbed tiredly to the top of the steps. "All right, onward and upward, further into the sewers... huzzah."

Fenris and Ketojan followed her, then Bethany and Varric. Together, they all continued to wind their way through the Undercity tunnels. It was dirty, smelly and often dark. After what seemed like hours of wandering through branching tunnels, Fenris heard voices. He eased his sword in its sheath, and Hawke glanced back at him.

"Trouble?" she whispered.

"Probably."

Cautiously, she led them around the next corner, where the tunnel opened up into a large room. A group of rough-looking, armed and armored men turned, some of them rising to their feet.

"What in blazes is that? Looks like a walking armory," one of them said, pointing.

"Maybe she's testing daddy's boots. The pretty ones always have something to prove," another said, sauntering out in front of his fellows. Fenris figured he must be the leader.

"I meant the huge bastard, not the girl, boss," the first man clarified.

_How did the man not notice the saarebas first? He must be blind. _Fenris glanced at Ketojan, then he looked at Hawke. _Though I suppose he cannot be totally blind — Hawke __**is**__... pretty._

Hawke walked right up to the men, as though she intended to go straight through. The lead thug crossed his arms, blocking her path. "Ah, look at this. Undercity's feared by all, but there's no shortage of fools with coin who want to test it." Hawke scowled at him, but she held her tongue. The man sneered at Ketojan."What is this thing, collared like a dog lord's _bitch_?" He leered at Hawke as he said the word. "You some sort of Qunari lover? Maybe I should get rid of you and see who'll pay the most for your pet."

Fenris growled at the man's tone, at his casual treatment of slavery, and at his rudeness to Hawke. Ketojan growled louder than he, still one pace behind him. The saarebas lifted his arms slightly, both hands turned upwards and cupped. His pointed nails made the otherwise-slight gesture quite menacing.

"Uhh, I don't think it likes you threatening its master," said the talkative subordinate, the one who had initially noticed Ketojan. "Maybe we let this one pass…"

One of Hawke's hands went to her hip. "A voice of reason. What's he doing with you?" She thrust her chin at the leader, whose eyes narrowed at her mocking, dismissive posture.

"You lot think you're so damned right, buying everything, running Free Marchers like me into our own sewers. You want us bound, like this thing. I'll see you dead first." Fenris heard the snick of a knife being opened as the thug spoke, but before he could react, Ketojan stomped up, hands glowing.

The boss barely had a chance to thrust the knife an inch before the qunari mage let loose a concentrated blast of magic. If rippled forward, killing the angry thug and tossing the rest of the ruffians to the ground.

"By the Void! Kill it! Kill them all!" the observant one cried as he tried to sit up, just before Fenris planted one foot on his chest, bearing him back down to the floor. With one fluid movement, he pulled his greatsword from its sheath and silenced the man for good.

"The correct answer would have been to run," Fenris told his corpse.

It was a quick and dirty fight. Bethany sent a cascade of ice through the remaining gang members, freezing some of them solid. Fenris's breath puffed out in a white mist as he struck one man, shattering him. The impact of the blow reverberated up his blade into his arm, and he grimaced. Still, he shattered a second man with a powerful overhead swing, smiling now with satisfaction. _Effective. I could learn to enjoy this._

He struck at a few more sluggish targets, ignoring those who tried to flee for the time being. Then a blast of heat and fire roared past, and Fenris was forced to drop into a low crouch. He smelled burning flesh, cloth and hair. He glanced around for Hawke, trying to locate her through the haze of heat, steam, smoke and fire. Finally, he spotted her.

She had worked her way behind the group of lowlifes and appeared unharmed, but she edged her way quickly back towards their other companions. Fenris noticed that all the thugs were now dead, even the ones who had almost made it to the cave beyond. Many of the ruined bodies were either smoldering or still aflame. He glanced back at the saarebas as Hawke rushed by.

Ketojan's skin glowed with crackling heat, his arms spread wide now. He seemed to be cupping white-hot fire in his hands. He looked down as Hawke approached, growling.

"They get the idea, Qunari — Ketojan… whatever! Calm yourself! Put out the fires before you kill us all!" she shouted, her hands outstretched in a placating gesture, though still clutching her daggers.

Ketojan dropped his hands, and suddenly all the fires extinguished, including the torches, plunging them into utter darkness. Even Fenris couldn't see, but he waited calmly, knowing it would only take a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Varric and Hawke both cursed, however. Bethany lit the space with a hovering orb that glowed a soft blue.

Hawke sighed. She was still facing the qunari. "You didn't have to extinguish _all_ the flames."

He grunted, and the torches flared back to life.

Fenris fidgeted, uncomfortable with the display of Ketojan's dramatic fire mastery.

"You did what I said." Hawke sounded very surprised as she looked up at the qunari. "Did I hit the right phrase or something?"

"Grrrrrrrrmmmmb…" It was the same reply Ketojan always offered.

"He may not know, himself," Fenris muttered, standing stiffly. He felt ill at ease from the memories brought back by seeing the collared qunari fight, of unpleasant times with Danarius in Seheron — not that there were ever any pleasant times, anywhere.

Hawke looked disconcerted too. "Did you react because your lead was threatened?" she asked the mage cautiously.

The saarebas growled, as usual.

Fenris moved to her side, trying not to think of how often he'd leaped without thought to defend Danarius, even when it had meant killing those who cared for him. "I know that kind of blind instinct. It is hard to judge how much control he has." _I was more animal than elf. _He thought back to how Ketojan had growled... just after he _himself_ had growled. He clamped down hard on his emotions._ No, I am no longer that slave! It was frustration and anger, not some blind, twisted instinct._

Hawke gave Fenris a small, reassuring smile, but he turned away, afraid to see pity in her eyes. _I could not bear that, not from her. I am what I am, not what I was. _He stalked off, deciding to rifle through the chests left behind by the dead men.

She watched Fenris go, then turned back to Ketojan. "You can't gesture or 'stomp your feet twice for yes' or something?" she pleaded.

The qunari grunted again, shifting in no particular or distinctive way, not even moving his sewn lips.

Varric covered his eyes with one hand, sighing loudly. "For all we know, he's asking for a chamber pot."

She looked down at Varric. "Let's hope not, shall we? This is a big enough mess already." Tilting her head to one side, she regarded Ketojan again. "Hmm. I'm getting you out of here before you 'help' again."

"Grrrgggmmmmb."

She rubbed at her temples. "Still clear as a bell. _Great_."

* * *

"It can't be much further." Varric's voice barely carried to the front of the group.

Hawke climbed over a pile of rubble, coughing as dust was kicked up by the shifting stones. "Truly," she called back, "because if this cave gets any narrower, even you won't be able to fit through, Varric, let alone Ketojan."

"I smell fresh air. It is briny, like the sea. We must be close now," Fenris reported.

Bethany called, "Thank the Maker," from somewhere behind. Though her voice was mostly blocked by the bulk of the big saarebas, her ball of blue light floated ahead. It dimly illuminated the dark passage, barely allowing them to see a few feet in front and behind. Fenris was grateful for that, because it helped keep him focused on navigating the tunnel, instead of watching Hawke.

As the next few minutes passed, the cave gradually became more illuminated, and not with the blue light of magic.

"The exit! Fenris, I could kiss that nose of yours for being right." Hawke trudged forward, cautiously crouching and leaning out of the mouth of the cave.

Despite the growing illumination, Fenris nearly walked face-first into a stalactite, narrowly swerving around it to avoid breaking his praised appendage. He touched the tip of his nose, as if noticing it for the first time. '_That nose of yours?' Is she trying to imply there is something wrong with it as well? My flexibility, my advice, my voice, my nose… Is there anything about me she cannot criticize?_

Behind him, Ketojan plowed through the stalactite uncaringly, breaking it into brittle, crusty chunks against his heavy collar and thickly corded shoulder.

Fenris came up behind her, Ketojan on his heels, taking up the entire mouth of the cave. They peered out over Hawke's head, into the clearing beyond. It appeared to be nestled somewhere along the coastline, outside of the city proper, and it rose up into the Vimmark Mountains.

"How long have we been at this? It's sunrise already. Maker, that's two dawns in a row with hardly a break." She punctuated her statement with a jaw-cracking yawn, then cursed as she scanned the area. Fenris saw them just a moment before she did. "Blight take us all!"

A full scouting company of Qunari were searching the clearing ahead. Within seconds, one of the ashaad pointed toward the cave exit, shouting, "Teth a! Basra say saarebas!" All the cold, pale eyes in the clearing turned on them.

"I suppose there is nothing for it, now," Hawke sighed, glancing up at Ketojan. She stood, then walked the narrow path that wound down to the clearing. Fenris, Ketojan, Bethany and Varric followed in a long, strung out line. The path was rocky, steep, and treacherous.

Fenris's palms began to itch again, but he was not particularly looking forward to getting a fight this time, not from a full company of qunari. Also the smell of death lingered here, and it soured the fresh, salty breeze coming in off the sea, troubling him.

"You will hold, basra vashedan," the helmeted leader of the scouting group commanded, lifting a hand to halt Hawke. She stopped, and the rest of them gathered around her. Fenris stood one step behind and to her right, in the place of honor. Saarebas took the same position to her left, the place of submission.

The lead qunari took all of this in, not bothering to examine Varric or Bethany. His gaze settled on Hawke, who was clearly in charge. "I am Arvaarad, and I claim possession of Saarebas at your heel. The members of his karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth, but their disposal leads only here, to Saarebas and you."

"How did I know this job would end in more Qunari…" Hawke sighed.

Varric muttered from behind. "Because I told you it would."

Ignoring him, Hawke shrugged at Arvaarad, her expression one of confusion. "All right, I'm game. What bodies?"

"You speak as if ignorance is your natural condition." He pointed at Ketojan. "The bodies of his slain karataam could lead only here. I do not know how you come to hold his leash, but you have no claim in the Qun. He will be returned and this crime cleansed."

"And if he doesn't want to go back?" Hawke asked, careful to keep her tone firm but neutral. Fenris found himself feeling a faint… pride in her, for taking his lessons on the Qunari to heart.

"Saarebas! Show that your will remains bound to the Qun!" Arvaarad commanded, addressing Ketojan. The hulking mage seemed to give Hawke a slight glance, but he came forth and knelt before Arvaarad with a growl, bowing his head in submission. She frowned down at him, uneasy.

Arvaarad pointed illustratively at the saarebas. "He has only followed you because he wants to be _led_. He is allowed no other purpose."

"The sister called him 'Ketojan.'" Then she addressed Ketojan directly. "You are Saarebas?"

The mage did not answer, did not even acknowledge she had spoken, but Arvaarad cut in anyway. "Saarebas is his role and his name, as you understand it. It is the accusation and acknowledgment of being a mage."

"And you are Arvaarad?" Hawke asked, curious eyes taking in his ceremonial chest paint, horns, adornment, armor and weapon.

Fenris had a feeling she'd be peppering him with questions about all of this later today, or tomorrow, or whenever next they had a spare moment to talk._ If we survive this confrontation at all._

"My role is to hold the leash, and hunt the gray ones who leave the Qun," Arvaarad explained. Then his expression darkened. "Or bas who have not yet been enlightened."

If Hawke was jarred by his threat, she didn't show it. "You don't care that someone abused your dead to get you here? That they made grisly breadcrumbs out of the corpses of Ketoj… Saarebas's karetaam_?_"

Her pronunciation was flawless, but Fenris forced away the growing pride he felt, wrapping himself in cold indifference. _There will be time later for that. Despite her deft tongue and growing competence with the Qunari, this situation is turning against us. If it has not been against us from the first. _He flexed his fingers.

"No doubt they were cast from your shoulders as you or your partner thieves grew _weak_," Arvaarad sneered. He towered down over all of them, and was wider than any two put together. "It is a crime whose victims are beyond caring. It will be dealt with, but the greater threat is clear. It is my role to secure Saarebas." Then the qunari smiled, and Hawke shivered at the flash of teeth behind his slitted visor. "It is the role of another to purge the perversions of your kind."

She narrowed her eyes, speaking curtly. "Perversions of _my_ kind?" She pointed at Saarebas. "He is bound and abused, and you want him caged. Why?"

Arvaarad walked in a wide circle around where Saarebas knelt. Something about his posture made the simple action look daring, as though being near the saarebas was fraught with peril, like skirting along the edge of a cliff, or walking up to a white-hot forge. "The power that he has, that all saarebas have, draws from chaos and demons. They can never be in control," he explained finally.

"So you fear them," Hawke snorted.

Bethany added mournfully, "Like so many others."

Fenris glanced back at her. He'd been distracted by Hawke and Arvaarad's conversation, and by watching the rest of the qunari party — he'd almost forgotten Bethany was along. He forced his hands to be still, but he could feel the inevitability of the battle to come. He sank deeper into stillness in his mind. _My only concern is surviving this. Nothing else matters._

"We leash Saarebas because they are dangerous and contagious. Not even your templars fully grasp that threat," the qunari was explaining.

Hawke tried a different tact. "I've met with your leader. The Arishok would not want a potential ally challenged in this way."

Arvaarad made a strange gesture with his hand, like a bird taking flight, but one that clearly indicated dismissal. "Claiming to know the will of the Arishok with Saarebas in your care is _maraas imekari_, a child bleating without meaning. The Arishok knows what is to be done with Saarebas who lose their Arvaarad. There is no greater threat to their control."

"Is a mage like Bethany so threatening? I don't see it."

Fenris stiffened, not expecting Hawke's retort. _And here we go._

"I'd hope not, sister," Bethany replied.

Arvaarad took a half step back. "You and saarebas — _Bas Saarebas _— are of the same womb?" His voice was thick with horror. Then he whirled, shouting angrily to his squad. "Vashedan! Nehraa sataa karasaam!" _Filth! We will avenge those who fought here!_

"Womb… why that word? It makes me… uncomfortable," Hawke muttered, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. "This day has been entirely too long already."

Turning back to her, the qunari pointed an accusatory finger as he drew his sword. "You spewed your words at me, like a demon trying to poison my control! Like this mage, the Qun requires your death!"

"But we're no threat to each other," Hawke asserted, showing him her empty hands.

But Arvaarad continued to rage. He pulled a long, metal rod out with his offhand, and he pointed it at Saarebas while addressing Bethany. "Bas Saarebas! You will be no threat to anyone!" The squad of qunari gathered up behind him, mostly karashok. A number of ashaad lingered further back, reading throwing spears.

Hawke freed her weapons then, seeing the unreasoning look on the qunari's face and the motion of his comrades. Fenris and Varric followed her lead. Together they faced down the hostile group of giants. As Arvaarad gestured the metal rod at the qunari mage, a shell of magic encased Saarebas. The blue, flickering haze held him as still as a statue, then all qunari eyes were for their small group.

The squad of horned men moved as one, Arvaarad calling out orders as several karashok squared off against them with battle cries. The ashaad moved to flank and gain higher ground. The speed and agility of the qunari did not match their hulking forms, and Hawke's small group was forced to fall back quickly, before they were surrounded. As they reached the rocky incline that led back up to the cave, they made their stand.

Fenris took a deep, cleansing breath, settling his mind utterly. He no longer felt any disquiet. No concern for himself, or Hawke, or anyone else — just cold, implacable focus, driven by the will to survive. He threw his long arms wide in challenge, and a ferocious, deep laugh erupted from him. The first few karashok rushed him, but Fenris had height on them, up on an incline. He slammed his pommel into the forehead of one of the giants, stunning him. As the qunari staggered backwards he bore another of his massive brothers to the ground, leaving Fenris to deal with the third, toe-to-toe. His entire focus became the battle, and he knew nothing else besides a vague awareness of where Hawke was.

She had immediately fallen back to Fenris's side, so was already shielded by his wide stance. From her belt, she pulled out a round glass bottle, corked tightly and sealed with wax. The reddish-orange liquid glinted in the sunlight as she tossed it into the center of the qunari ranks. The glass shattered, and the liquid ignited as it touched air. Flames leapt up along the legs and arms of the giants who had been splashed when the grenade broke open. They scattered, beating at themselves and each other.

Bethany hunched behind Hawke and Fenris, her eyes closed in concentration. A thin, shimmering bubble of magic sprang up around each of them, then seemed to pop. Hawke felt a familiar, tight, tingling sensation settle over her entirely, almost like a mist that clung to her skin.

"That should help turn some of the more shallow blows," Bethany said quickly, before closing her eyes in concentration again. Hawke nodded to her sister, then skirted around Fenris, ducking low to avoid his wide, sweeping blows.

"Bianca and I will be just up here," Varric said with a resigned sigh. The dwarf scurried back up the narrow path towards the cave, finding a high perch with good footing. Within seconds, it seemed to be raining crossbow bolts.

Hawke slid down the side of the rocky path, darting for a pair of ashaad who were ranging in on Fenris and Bethany with each successive spear throw. They turned to throw at her as she rushed up to them, but she strafed two steps to one side as they loosed simultaneously. Spears whizzed past her left thigh as she lunged, taking each of them in one kidney as they reached back for more spears. A second, nearby pair of ashaad turned towards her, readying their own javelins when they heard the dying shouts of their fellows. But a wide fireball landed right at their feet, and they were thrown back, already dead.

Hawke made short work of the other groups of ashaad as she crept on the periphery of the battlefield. Then she advanced, coming up behind Arvaarad and a pair of karashok flanking him. They were moving confidently towards Fenris and Bethany now, either unconcerned or unaware of her presence behind. Assessing the battle, Hawke saw that Varric and Bethany had killed the rest of the karashok who she had softened up with her grenade. Fenris, still grim and unrelenting, had also nearly finished off the last of the qunari who had rushed forward.

There was a red slash on his cheek, from where a spearhead had grazed him. He bore several deep cuts on his upper arms and legs where swords had bitten into him, though Bethany's arcane shielding had thankfully stopped the blows from severing his limbs. Even as she crept forward, Hawke could see Fenris's skin glow green, stitching itself back together, leaving just wet lines of blood behind as Bethany cast a quick spell of healing over him. But if Fenris noticed the spell, he did not acknowledge it. He just kept fighting, a relentless, graceful whirl of black armor, white hair and bloodied steel.

As the last karashok before him fell dead at his feet, he turned his savage gaze to Arvaarad. He ran and leapt, not waiting for them to come to him, moving with such speed that he seemed to just reappear in front of the final trio of qunari. He glowed with the light of his lyrium talent, then seemed to fade from view. Hawke had a hard time telling where he was, as did the qunari, who hesitated, looking around in confusion. And then suddenly he was there, on the left, attacking the shortest of them, driving the horned man back with a flurry of quick, furious blows.

Arvaarad bellowed, then he and the remaining karashok rounded on Fenris, who was pressing past them now, his back exposed. Hawke steeled herself, running forward, thrusting all her weight behind her daggers as she dug simultaneously into the backs of one of Arvaarad's and the other karashok's knees. The karashok buckled, going down with a pained roar, her dagger still lodged in his leg and torn from her grasp. But Arvaarad's thick leather pants turned her blade, sending her off balance as the knife twisted. She had to slap her hand heavily against the ground to keep from falling over.

She tried to rise, but Arvaarad stepped down onto her dagger's blade, and it snapped as she attempted to pull it free. She wheeled backwards, empty-handed now.

"Katara, bas!" Arvaarad growled as he advanced on her, ignoring Fenris and his own brothers. A few bolts of ice slammed into the qunari's shoulder, and a crossbow bolt hit him in the meat of his huge bicep, but he shook them off like they were the insignificant bites of a mosquito. He hounded her slowly, relentlessly, taking pleasure at her scrambling.

She backed into a pile of large stones that had tumbled down from the cliffside above. Cornered, Hawke reached into her boot with her right hand to slip out the knife she always carried in case of emergency. With her left hand, she brought out a small vial of black, oily liquid, hastily pouring it over the edge of her single blade. She straightened, holding the small knife in a tight grasp, searching for a good opportunity to deliver the potent poison.

The qunari stopped several paces from her, spreading his arms wide in a mocking challenge. "Come, female. Am I a piece of bread, that you strike at me with your butter knife? This is why do not allow our women to be warriors." Arvaarad laughed deeply, spinning his sword with a flourish. His pale eyes regarded her with nothing so much as amusement. She crouched, coiled like a snake ready to strike, but clearly she did not intimidate him in the least.

Suddenly her other dagger skittered across the ground, stopping as it hit her foot. It was still bloody, and now caked with dust. She snatched it, wiping it off on her leather skirt before she smeared some of the oily poison onto it from the edge of the small blade. Looking around Arvaarad, she saw Fenris crouched over the still body of the second karashok, the one she had crippled. He gave her a dark, wolfish smile.

Hawke hurriedly scrambled up onto the jagged rocks behind her, coiling again as Arvaarad smiled menacingly up at her. He didn't seem to care that Fenris was behind him, only having eyes for her. Before he could come for her, she forced her tired legs to leap, propelling her through the air towards him.

He spread his arms wider, control rod in one hand, sword in the other, as if to catch and crush her. From behind, Fenris sprang forward too, already bringing the flat of his greatsword savagely down onto the arvaarad's head. It clanged loudly against the qunari's metal helmet, making the horned giant wince and turn at the same time. His dented helmet was cast aside as he pivoted.

As the qunari spun, Hawke's poisoned blades slashed across his massive chest and down his left arm. She'd angled her jump to that side, where he held the control rod, avoiding his weapon lest he cut her down out of the air. Arvaarad dropped the rod, but he ignored it and moved to clasp his sword with both hands, squaring off against Fenris. Hawke hit the ground hard and awkwardly, but she forced herself to roll away, letting Fenris step in to drive the big warrior back.

The wind had been knocked out of her, and she lay in the dirt for a few moments, struggling to breathe. She staggered as she tried to stand, wincing as a throbbing pain shot all along her right side. Her shoulder blazed with agony, and she could not move it, nor feel her hand. Her ankle would not bear her weight either, so she yelled for Bethany, knowing she could neither manage going to her sister, nor unstoppering a healing draught.

Bethany picked her way down the rocky slope towards her, but she stopped well back of Hawke and the battle. Hawke could see her sister's face concentrating as an almost liquid warmth trickled through her, and the pain subsided. She still could not feel her right hand or move that arm, but she felt better otherwise. Quickly, she bent to retrieve her weapons. She could not find her dagger, but her dominant arm was useless anyway. She snatched up the small knife in her left hand, then moved back to where Fenris and Arvaarad were still trading blows.

With satisfaction, Hawke noticed that Arvaarad looked pale now, and his movements were increasingly sluggish. Still, Fenris had taken a grisly cut just above his hip, the raw, jagged chunk of flesh making Hawke wince, though he hardly seemed to notice it. As she advanced on them, Fenris locked blades with the qunari, head-butted him in the nose once, twice, and then lashed out a powerful kick against the side of Arvaarad's leg. The horned man finally crumpled to his knees. His bloody sword dropped out of nerveless fingers as Hawke's poison took full hold of him, and Fenris backed away, keeping the tip of his huge sword at the tender area above the qunari's collarbone.

He looked at her impassively as she came to stand beside him. She saw his face was flecked with dark splatters of blood — indeed, most of his exposed flesh and his gloves were smeared with it, whether his own or qunari. It made her a little nervous to see him look so ghastly, yet act so calm. Still, she gave him a small smile and inclined her head in thanks to him, before turning to regard the panting, nerveless qunari.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this, Arvaarad. We were both set up, I think."

Arvaarad's eyes narrowed. "Basra… vashedan…" he said, with great effort. "Anaan... esaam Qun."

"I know," she said gently, as if soothing a frustrated child. With her left hand, she brought her sharp knife swiftly across the side of his neck, severing the jugular. As the arvaarad's eyes went lifeless, she knew he felt no pain, for she kept a razor's edge on her 'butter knife,' and the poison she'd bought from Martin had been quite potent. Prolonging his death was terribly beneath her anyway, and she needed to see to Fenris's wounds, and to her own dislocated shoulder.

Fenris planted his sword into the ground, then turned to face her. "You are injured," he said passively, gesturing at her use of her off-hand.

She laughed, gesturing with her blood-soaked knife to his hip. "So are you."

He looked down, touching at the wound and wincing. He seemed surprised to see fresh blood on his clawed gloves when he pulled his hand away. "I… had not noticed."

Bethany and Varric scurried over. "Maker's breath, Hawke," the dwarf swore. "Remind me never to get on our bad side. Messing with us seems… suicidal." He gave Arvaarad's blood-soaked corpse a nervous glance.

Bethany reached for Fenris as if to touch his injury, but he snarled and backed away. "No."

Hawke's brow furrowed. "Let her heal you, Fenris. If we are going to the Deep Roads soon, we cannot have you half-full of holes before we even get down there."

Fenris fixed her with a flat stare. "If she must touch me, the answer is no."

She stiffened, thinking back to how she'd flirtatiously nudged his toes back at The Hanged Man. _Maker, that seems like days ago, but it was just a few hours back… _Suddenly she felt very weary. She turned to Bethany. "Do what you can without touching him." She looked back at Fenris. "And drink a healing draught." He glowered. "Please," she added tightly.

Glaring at her, he pulled off his blood-encrusted gloves and threw them to the ground before slipping a long, red vial from his belt. As he unstoppered it and threw the liquid back into his throat, Bethany cast a bright, concentrated burst of healing magic at his torn side.

The flesh mended itself slowly, first muscle and then skin pulling back together and becoming whole. Then small beads of green magic began to skim along a winding lyrium marking that appeared, snaking across Fenris's newly-mended skin. Hawke blinked, tracing the marking with her eyes, wondering what the rest of it looked like underneath his tunic. The healing magic faded away then as it knitted even the fabric back to wholeness, since it too was made out of organic material. The sight of his lyrium marking was once more hidden away, covered up under his tight, black armor.

"What are you looking at?" Fenris snarled, throwing the empty glass vial to the side, shattering it. She looked up at him, first startled and then confused at his harsh tone. He still looked every bit as savage as he had while fighting. Only now, with no opponents around, it made him seem more wild than fierce.

"Nothing," she said, trying to shrug. She gave an agonized gasp as she jarred her dislocated shoulder. "Son of a bitch, but this hurts," she hissed through gritted teeth. She dropped her knife point-first into the ground, and pulled off her crusty gloves with some difficulty. Clasping her right forearm with her left hand, she tried to push her arm back into its socket. The pain of it drove her to her knees. "Andraste's bloody nose!"

Bethany knelt beside her. "You know I can't just heal it back into place, Marian. I can make the pain go away once it's relocated, but... well, you remember what happened when Carver fell off that cart. I'm sorry." She looked to Fenris. "Could you do it, Fenris? It will require some… force," she said, her eyes nervous and concerned.

Fenris considered her question grimly. "I have given my share of dislocated shoulders, but I've never undone one." Bethany's pleading eyes held him. "Still, I have seen it often enough. Masters are not kind or gentle with their property in the Imperium, and it falls to the slaves to take care of their own." He advanced on Hawke, going down to one knee in front of her.

He leaned towards her, and she looked up into his eyes, feeling uneasy both at his distant, hostile demeanor, and at the promise of pain to come. She steeled herself, then recoiled slightly as he reached for her. "Don't you want to put on your gloves? So you don't have to… you know. Touch me?" Her voice was breathless and quavering, and she already felt her forehead breaking out in a cold sweat.

He hesitated, and for a moment his stormy green eyes seemed to clear. She thought she could see concern, tenderness and nervousness in his gaze. She suddenly wanted to caress his face, to wipe the blood away, and kiss him. Then his jaw clenched, and his eyes became hard again as he seized her.

She gasped involuntarily as one of his strong hands grabbed her right forearm firmly, just above her leather vambrace. The other wrapped around her hand — his grip was every bit as warm and solid as before, when he'd caught her by the wrist as they'd argued over Anders. Frightened by his sudden return to coldness, she tried to pull away, but she was in no position to resist. He held her fast, pulling her towards him.

He began to rotate her arm outwards, pushing with a solid, intractable force. She couldn't move, couldn't pull away, and his hard face frightened her, so she closed her eyes against the building, burning pain. Her weak, numb fingers clasped at his, and in the back of her mind she idly hoped for a second attempt at holding hands with him — one much more enjoyable than this, preferably when her hand could actually feel anything.

"To the Void with this…" she hissed. Fenris kept moving her arm away, still twisting it out from her torso, not easing up on her as she began to shake. "Blight take you, the damned Qunari, and Sister Petrice… shit." She sagged back onto her heels, but he still held her, uncompromising as ever. She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back the tears that sprang to her eyes.

The pain reached a crescendo, then climbed higher and higher. "Stop. STOP! To the Void with you! This isn't going to work! Let me go, damn you, you obviously don't have the first clue what you're… Fuck!" Her curses echoed off the mountainside, reverberating through the small clearing as she both felt and heard a pop in her shoulder. Her eyes flew open in shock, but the relief was immediate — the pain almost completely gone.

Fenris pushed her arm back in to her chest, releasing her as she cradled it to herself. She wiggled her fingers, able to feel her hand once more. She looked up at him blankly. Though her eyes were watery, she could see his grim satisfaction, but little other emotion. He stood and turned away, wiping his hands on his leggings, not looking at her.

Bethany put one tender hand on her shoulder, and a warm wash of healing magic took away the last of the pain and pulled the joint tight again. Hawke felt good as new, except for the uneasy, confused feelings roiling in her mind as she looked at Fenris's back.

He moved away and crouched, kneeling to examine Ketojan — Saarebas, she reminded herself. The poor qunari mage was still held motionless by some kind of magic, all but forgotten in the battle and its aftermath. She rose unsteadily to her feet, shook out her legs, and then tested her arm before brushing her knees off. She hurried over to Saarebas, concerned. Fenris still did not look at her.

"Can you stand?" she asked the qunari. Fenris moved away to retrieve his greatsword and gloves, as if avoiding being near her. She let him go for the time being.

"Grrrrrrmmmnnn…" Saarebas replied, struggling to twitch one long-nailed finger in the direction of the control rod, which Arvaarad had dropped when she'd cut him. It still lay in the dirt.

Hawke retrieved it quickly, turning to point the tip at Saarebas. Nothing happened, so she shook it — but it just rattled. Then she tried to work the pointed end that had glowed when Arvaarad had used it. Still nothing. Finally, she placed it on the ground, and stomped one heel firmly onto the hollow shaft of the thing, where she'd the heard rattling. There was a small crackle as it broke and smoke smell wafted up, smelling like hot metal, ozone and lyrium.

Saarebas slumped as the magical effect vanished, then lumbered to his feet. He worked his jaw soundlessly for a few moments, stretching the stitches that held his mouth shut. It made Hawke shudder to watch. "I am… unbound. Odd… wrong…" he said in a halting, raspy voice, looking down at her, "… but you deserve honor. You are now Basvaarad, worthy of following. I thank your intent, even if it was… wrong."

He glanced at the corpse of Arvaarad, then bowed his head. "I know the will of Arvaarad. I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom… of the Qun." He turned and began walking away towards the coastline.

Hawke glanced back at the rest of her group, holding up a hand to forestall them, then followed after Saarebas.

"So after all this, now you want to die?" she asked quietly.

"I do not want to die." He sounded sad. "I want to live… by the Qun."

"Which means dying." She hoped deep down that she did not understand the Qun correctly, that he meant something else by his words.

"Yes," he said, glancing over at her. "Is that hard to grasp?"

She furrowed her brow, thinking back to her conversations with the Arishok, and Fenris. Unable to think of another response, she offered, "Petrice might take you back if death is the only other option."

Saarebas's gaze remained resolutely fixed on the coastline up ahead. "The sister was not honest."

A tingle tickled the base of her skull. "What do you mean?"

He chose his words carefully, weighing them before he spoke. "I cannot say what she wanted, but it was certainty not of the Qun. And her guard smelled of death."

Hawke tried not to think of Ser Varnell. The back of her neck began to itch, and her earlier fatigue fled before waves of unease. She pushed it all down and tried to focus on the problem at hand. "Others of your kind live outside the Qun. You could join them."

"They are not my kind. I am Qunari. They are not." Saarebas did not falter or even hesitate in his inexorable march to the sea.

She began to feel a bit desperate, wondering what he was about to do. "Tal-Vashoth or not, they have chosen to be free. Why can't you do the same?"

"Free? They have refused what they are. I… can't choose to not be." He sounded anguished, but not about himself — rather the terrible choice others had made.

Hawke ran before him, then walked backwards, trying to see his face, to convince him. "Arvaarad couldn't kill me. Perhaps he was wrong about your death, too." She gestured at herself, showing him that she was relatively unharmed.

"Losing to you does not make him wrong. He spoke the Qun. I have chosen. It is bred in the bone." He gave her a nod of respect.

Dejectedly, she fell back into step beside him. He kept walking until he reached a small stand of trees, on a little jut of land that thrust out over the water.

"Existing is not a choice," she said, when he finally turned to face her, stubbornly refuting Fenris's earlier argument, and Saarebas's own staunch belief.

"It is the only choice. _Asit tal-eb_. It is to be."

She balled her hands into fists, cursing Fenris's timing of his maddening lecture earlier that evening. _Damn him, why must he always be right about these things?_ She felt tired, cold and numb all over. When she spoke again, she sounded hopeless, even to herself. "Could you have returned if I'd let these others live?"

"No."

"You were doomed from the start?"

"I was outside my karataam. I may be corrupted. I cannot know." Saarebas sounded so anguished and scared that she shivered to see this giant of a man afraid of himself. "How I return is my choice. It must be, but that does not mean there is no meaning." He drew himself up a little, as if pulling on strength from deep within.

True desperation seized her then, and she took a step towards him, shaking her head vehemently. "I can't let this decision stand." She reached for his wrist, but paused when she realized she could barely encircle it with both of her hands. Her eyes ran over the huge qunari, trying to figure out some way to force him to come with her.

"If you force choice, it is not choice." He spoke sternly but gently, as if scolding a child. "Your doubt does not make me wrong. Certainty is comfort. That is the way of the Qunari. The way of the Qun." He looked at the trees, and the mountains, then up at the sky for a long, long moment. She stood before him mutely, unable to think of anything, but resolved not to just… walk away.

Finally, he reached into his tall, heavy collar and pulled out some object that was swallowed up in his massive fist. With his other hand, he took her wrist and pressed the thing into her open palm. He wrapped her fingers around it, so gentle that it made her heart break. "Take this secret thing, Basvaarad," he said, turning to face the sea.

He scanned the waters silently, taking slow, deep breaths. After a minute, he stood tall. "Remember this day." He lifted his arms out, as if opening himself to the world.

"I will tell the Arishok, Saarebas. No doubt he will honor your dedication to the Qun," she said hoarsely, hand still gripping the skin-warm object he'd pressed into her palm.

At her words, Saarebas thrust his hands into the air and his skin erupted into flames. She staggered backwards, forced away by the sudden burst of heat that licked up from him. He stood aflame for a few moments, like a lit torch. Then he went to his knees heavily, hands dropping lifelessly at his sides. The flames roared even hotter, and she had to look away, catching only a glimpse of his massive outline as he was consumed utterly where he knelt.

She took a few more steps back, then opened her hand. There lay a gold-rimmed talisman made of horn — she suspected it was Saarebas's own horn, for it looked similar to the capped ends of his blunted ones. It was on a braided necklace, and she shivered, realizing it was woven from the same type of cord used to sew his mouth closed.

She glanced up at Saarebas's self-made pyre, eyes watering from the heat, brow creased, heart deeply troubled. But he had no answers to give, save the one he'd already given. "_Asit tal-eb_," she repeated. "It is to be."

* * *

"I… have no words. That poor creature." Though the sun shone brightly now, Bethany looked pale, drawn and sad. Varric stood beside her, looking grim. Though Hawke had not yet described her conversation with the qunari mage, they'd all come running when they saw the thick, black smoke rising from the coastline.

Hawke squeezed the talisman of Saarebas in her hand, her fatigue utterly burned away. "She may not have known about this, but clearly Petrice set a trail right to us."

Fenris regarded her, nodding slowly, though he still remained aloof. "It seems likely she set them on us, but why? I would know." His hands were fists as he looked over to where a smoldering heap of ashes was blowing away on the sea breeze, all that was left of Saarebas.

Though Hawke couldn't read his expression, she could tell Fenris was upset._ I wonder if he saw a little of himself in Saarebas. He said Danarius collared him in mockery of Qunari custom. If he treated Fenris in a similar fashion to this, then… that would explain a lot. _She decided not to think too hard at the moment at what Fenris must have been through. Her emotions were raw enough after no sleep, several tough fights and Saarebas's suicide. Still, she couldn't help but watch Fenris and wonder at him as he pulled on his gloves and stamped his bare feet, readying to move._  
_

_Maker, if Saarebas's conditioning went so deep that he killed himself rather than face life outside the Qun, perhaps I shouldn't be asking **why** Fenris is like this, and instead marvel that he can function at all. His strength of will must be… incredible. The way he seems to close himself off must be some kind of protective... habit. But still, it hardly seems healthy. If only we had a little time to talk... _

_Yet, I am so fearful of poking him in a sore spot — and he seems almost all sore spots. __Maybe I should just get him drunk, and ferret out all his secrets and hurts. Fill his heart anew with... other things._

Fenris caught her looking at him then, so her eyes shifted to Bethany, and then back to the hand that gripped Saarebas's talisman.

_But__ it seems there will be no rest for the weary. Not today. We must press on, and live to love one more day, I suppose._

She tucked the reminder of Saarebas away into her pouch, then led her small band along the coastline, back to Kirkwall to confront Sister Petrice.


	25. Interlude: No Rest for the Weary, Part 3

**A/N: **I apologize to anyone who read the last chapter within the first few hours of me posting it. I'd left out one short, last section, and it took a while for it to go live.

You might want to go back and hit up the very end of the last chapter, just in case. My fault for posting tired, sorry!

And now, I give you the final installment of this interlude — part 3. Many thanks, as ever, for your kind reviews! *squish*

* * *

Hawke crouched in front of the door, picking the lock silently as Fenris, Bethany and Varric shielded her from view. The latch clicked softly and she turned the knob, nudging the door open the tiniest crack. Her companions casually turned and followed her as she strode inside.

"Leave nothing. It must be clean with no ties. It…" Petrice turned as the room brightened, sunlight streaming in around Hawke's group. Despite the obvious look of displeasure on all their faces, the Chantry sister smiled. "Hawke. It was Hawke, right? From the streets? You… took the Qunari from the city? Without incident?" Ser Varnell stepped up beside her, a snarl on his lips.

"I think the 'incident' was rather your idea," Varric said testily.

Petrice caught Varnell's arm, halting him as he took a step towards Varric. "Mind your tongue, dwarf," the templar spat.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the familiarity between Varnell and Petrice, but the sister just gave her a look of forbearance. "Please. Do speak your mind."

She scowled, irritated by the Chantry sister's patronizing tone. "Don't string me along. You _know_ that I know."

"Whether you believe it or not, I wished you no harm." Petrice glided serenely forward, but her mask of benevolence began to crack around the edges, turning to disappointment. "That might have been useful for _someone_, but still regrettable. A massacre of citizens protecting a slave might have forced the Chantry to doubt appeasement, to see the Qunari for the monsters they are." She gave a small, innocent shrug. "Perhaps finding a mage was a rushed opportunity. If such a plot existed, I see how it might be… disagreeable to you."

Hawke's arm came up swiftly, and the Chantry sister flinched. But Hawke just dangled a gold-rimmed piece of horn in front of the woman's pointy nose. "Your 'Ketojan' killed himself rather than be free," she said, voice shaking with anger.

Sister Petrice spread her hands helplessly. "I assumed he wanted to escape, just as I would. My pity is genuine, but they are not like us."

Hawke scoffed. "I want no part of your little war. Pay me what I'm due." She shoved the amulet back into her pouch, then thrust out an impatient hand.

Petrice's lips pressed into a thin line and she flicked a gesture at Ser Varnell. The templar slowly pulled out a bag of coins, testing the weight of it almost thoughtfully. Then he lobbed it at Bethany, of all people, seeming to aim it at her head.

Hawke stood still as stone, her narrowed eyes following the trajectory of the purse as it fired passed her. Bethany flinched, cringing backwards to avoid being stuck. But Fenris's arm flashed out, quick as lightning, and he snatched it out of the air before it hit her. He squeezed it tight in his clawed hand, and gave Varnell a lip-curling sneer to match the man's own.

_Voluntarily defending a mage — if only from a bag of coins — and now glaring at templar. There truly is a first time for everything. Especially when I am in the company of Hawke._

Hawke's empty, outstretched hand made a fist, and she stared icily at the templar. Her whole body seemed almost to vibrate, like brittle glass about to shatter, her patience all but exhausted. After a few tense moments, she closed her eyes. Then she rolled her head languidly, audibly popping several vertebrae, and took a loud, calming breath through her nose. In this way, she managed to stay her hand — but just barely.

"Take your coin," Petrice said disgustedly when Hawke reopened her eyes. "Disappear back into Lowtown. Rest assured I will not make the mistake of looking for help outside the faithful again." She fixed each one of them with a confident, haughty look. "The stakes — eternity — are just too high." Giving them an indifferent gesture of benediction, she turned her back.

Hawke spun on her heel, marching out of the hovel. Bethany all but ran after her, Varric sauntering behind. Fenris waited until last, staring Varnell down as the others moved outside.

Now that he too was covered in qunari blood, Fenris recognized the smell on the templar for what it was. He turned his back on the knight as he left, hoping Varnell would take the bait, and give him an excuse to rip out the man's lyrium-addicted heart. But Varnell only crossed the room to slam the door shut behind Fenris.

_Disappointing. And yet I have a feeling this is not ended. I think I actually look forward to killing a templar. This must be how Anders feels all the time. Hmm.  
_

Fenris walked over to where Hawke was standing near her own home, across from Petrice's safehouse, watching a group of children play in the small square. "We'll be hearing from that one again," he told her as he handed over the bag of coins.

She looked at the pouch for a moment, frowning at it. Then she undid the purse strings and flung her arm wide, sending a cascade of sparkling silver and copper coins scattering around the square. "I'll not take her blood money," she said fiercely. "No doubt decent people donated this to the Chantry in an effort to see good done in this world. I won't have it, not for this. This wasn't even about politics. I may not be religious, but even I know this was… some _perversion_ of the Maker's will. Saarebas didn't have to die, not for this. I won't have it." Her voice broke slightly.

Though Fenris shared her anger over the senseless betrayal, he found himself irritated at the Hawke's blind optimism that the saarebas could be saved, and at their wasted effort.

_So moody. Perhaps she is even more tired than she looks. _

_The saarebas was what he was; there was never going to be any changing that. If she had any idea how dangerous Qunari mages really are, she would… but no, she thinks all magic harmless._

_But what was the point of all this if she's just going to throw away perfectly good coin? I must be too weary to see it._

Scrawny children clothed in rags came running, scrabbling excitedly to pick up the money. They laughed and yelled as they chased after some of the bits which still rolled away down the street. Wary adults began to poke their heads out of windows and doors as the noise in the square grew, then cheerfully joined in the hunt when they saw what was transpiring.

Hawke's shoulders slumped, and she suddenly looked exhausted. "We should get some rest," she said tiredly. She went up the steps to her house, moving out of the way of the swelling crowd.

Fenris watched the poor, dirty throng with disgust, reminded uncomfortably of how the slaves in Tevinter jostled and pushed at mealtimes, or when the rare healer came around. How they bickered and fought over the discarded scraps of their masters' clothes and linens on the first day of each month, hoping to eke out an extra shirt or change of underthings.

_Some things never change, no matter how far from the Imperium I go. Pathetic. I am glad I am no longer such as they are. I will never become that again. I would fight until my last breath not to go back. I imagined I looked much as they did... probably worse, for they are all human, and elves in the Imperium are less valuable than even beasts of burden. They should consider themselves lucky that they aren't in the Alienage around the corner, at least.  
_

_No, I will kill Danarius for what he has done, and every other slave-owning piece of filth I find._

"We'll go see Bartrand tomorrow," Hawke called down from the landing, breaking Fenris out of his dark thoughts. Behind her, Bethany waved farewell and went into the house, leaving the door open for her sister. Ruff bounded out onto the landing, barking at the crowd excitedly.

Varric craned his neck up at Hawke, nodding to her. "All right. Today is shot to the Void and back anyway," he agreed, yawning. "Come meet me whenever, Hawke. You know where I'll be." He began plodding towards The Hanged Man, inclining his head to Fenris as he passed.

"Go home, have a bath, Fenris." Hawke gave him a tired smile as he looked up at her. "You look terrible."

He glanced down at himself, gore-flecked and dusty, then back up at her. She looked as though she'd been dragged through a charnel house. "You should see yourself."

She laughed, examining her scraped knees, blood-spattered boots, and the fronts and backs of her dirty hands before beckoning him over. She crouched at the edge of the landing, Ruff sniffing her madly as she lowered herself. She fondly shooed the dog back into the house.

Though Fenris wanted nothing more than to go back to his mansion, get clean and have a bite to eat, he drew nearer. With no imminent threat at hand, the cold grip of control he'd held on himself had begun to ease, and he found himself searching her face as he regarded her.

_She looks drained. And filthy. How many other women would walk around, smiling while looking that dirty? She is something other entirely. Perhaps... no. _He held his tongue before he wound up inviting her to his mansion, to take a bath.

"That was some fight with Arvaarad." Her voice was soft and bemused, but he could hear concern too, despite the rowdy noise of people searching for her coin. "The whole battle in fact was… quite impressive." She hesitated. "But you seemed so focused and… distant. Like you were far away. You didn't even notice your injuries, Fenris. Is… everything all right?"

"It is how I fight, Hawke." He looked away and shrugged, not wanting to think about it. "Without focus and control, battles would… go poorly."

Her eyes searched his turned face for a moment, then she shrugged. "You don't usua... but I suppose I can't argue with your results. I'm glad you weren't so distant that you didn't see me lose my weapons. Thank you for tossing me my dagger, by the way. Even though I never did find it afterward." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then smirked. "Hmm, I suppose I'll just have to go weapon shopping. Oh well."

He didn't really know what she was talking about, but he gave a weak smile. She hesitated again, then she blushed, touching her shoulder. "And thanks… for helping with my arm. Even though it hurt like bloody blazes."

Fenris frowned up at her, having to search for the memory of her injured shoulder.

_All I remember clearly is… her looking up at me, frightened and in pain. And wondering how to get her back to Kirkwall like that, with how tired and pale she looked. _His frown deepened as he dug down, recollection still muddy.

_I remember now. I… I must have fallen back on instinct. I've seen how painful pushing a shoulder back into its socket can be — I can't imagine hurting her like that, not even to help. And yet I did, but I can barely remember. _

He froze, feeling suddenly panicked.

_It's just like when I was with Danarius. All reaction and instinct, with no thought for the consequences. When I carried him onto that crowded ship in Seheron, despite his broken arm and screaming for me to stay. I got back off after threatening the first mate… all for him, even though I knew I would likely die._

He felt a sudden queasy feeling in his stomach, like a vast blackness had opened up beneath his feet to swallow him and he was falling.

_No. No no no. NO! I'm not enslaved anymore!__ I merely shut her out, since she is a distraction._ This was different, wasn't it? It must be different.

The thought did not comfort him however, and he still felt dazed._  
_

_Have I not run far enough? Have I not spilled enough blood to drown out Danarius's influence? Am I really just one slip away from becoming a mindless slave again? How many must I kill, who must I kill, to drive out the last of this festering rot inside me? When I next confront him, will I just willingly submit, relieved to see him just like Hawke's mabari is to see her? No... I cannot believe that. No.  
_

Hawke saw his stricken expression, and her eyes lowered. "I'm sorry about... my language. I know I swore a blue streak at you, though you were just trying to help. Please, I meant nothing by it, honestly."

Fenris looked up slowly. He stared at her, blankly, as if meeting her for the first time.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, and her blush deepened. "I don't want either the Blight or the Void to take you. You obviously _did_ know what you were doing. My dirty mouth, however, did not."

He actually laughed then. He was caught so completely off guard by the sweet absurdity of her words against the torrent of hateful thoughts in is mind. He clutched his stomach as the deep chuckle pulled uncomfortably at sore muscles. Her interpretation of his expression surprised him utterly, and for once, he welcomed her distracting him from his brooding.

"You'd be surprised, Hawke," he said, shaking his head. "It is true, you curse almost as well as Isabela, and she goes to great pains to point out her prowess with all thing… dirty. But I probably have you both beat. You just do not know it, because I prefer Tevinter swear words. They sound… more refined."

Her eyes sparkled as she looked down at him. "Refined curse words? You _are_ a study in contrasts, Fenris." She giggled then, and he graced her with a rare smile.

"Hmm. I'll take that as a compliment."

Hawke nodded, laughing, "As it was intended. So… you forgive me for my earlier coarseness, then?"

"I have already forgotten it." He gave a wry smile at his own irony. "Besides," he added dryly, "if I had the slightest qualms about your language, my ears would have fallen off weeks ago."

Her gaze traced along his long, elven ears. "Yes," she said, matching his serious tone, "I suppose with ears like that, you can probably hear even the curse words I _don't_ utter." Then she smiled coyly, and laughed again.

_'Ears like that'? Ears like what, exactly? Elf ears? __**Knife**__ ears?_

He stiffened, smile fading instantly, stunned as if she had reached down and slapped him. All he could think about were the infinite times he'd been called 'knife-ear' — by strangers, by travelers, by innkeepers, townsfolk, and, of course, Danarius and the other magisters. Hadriana in particular had relished it, and would coo it into his ear like a lover's pet name while she groped and pinched him.

His earlier flood of hatred crashed back in on him savagely, utterly drowning the momentary amusement and tenderness he'd felt. Fenris's body went rigid as he fought down rage, a hot one this time, not the calming, icy one that he usually used to harden himself against such prejudices. And he suddenly remembered all the other mocking remarks she'd made, too.

_My nose. My voice. Rebuffing my advice. Dismissing me for my height and flexibility. And now this._

_I knew it. For all her teasing, I am just some pitiable elf, just some knife-ear to her. Sooner or later, it always comes out. Humans are all alike. This is why I never let my guard down._

Without another word, Fenris turned away, deafly stalking towards Hightown as Hawke called after him, utterly bewildered.

* * *

"But darling, you just came home! You've barely had a chance to wash and eat. If you won't sleep, at least sit down for a spell. You're going to do yourself a harm, rushing about like this. It's not healthy." Leandra petted an excited Ruff, who was standing and wagging his tail at Hawke.

Hawke kept pacing, combing at her damp hair. "What I do for a living isn't healthy, Mother. I'm not that tired. Besides, Ruff clearly needs a walk, and I need to purchase new daggers before the shops all close. I'm fine, really."

"You're going to go see Fenris, aren't you," Bethany said, emerging from the back room, smelling of soap. She, too, was brushing out her wet hair. "I thought you said you were going to try to make it a week this time before arguing again? You should have known mentioning his ears would be a sore topic."

"I didn't say anything derogatory! It was meant to be a compliment on his _keen hearing_, of all the ironic things!" Hawke said shrilly, thrusting her comb high into the air.

Leandra frowned. "Fenris? That elf friend of yours? The tall one, with the…" She made an inarticulate gesture, swirling a finger at her chin and throat.

"With the markings? Yes, what of them?" Hawke said defiantly.

Leandra sighed, not challenging her eldest daughter. "You _know_ I have nothing against elves, love. Being married to an apostate and raising another leaves very little room for prejudice." Her face went thoughtful for a moment. "He's quite tall and strong for an elf, isn't he? Unusual hair, too. Still, he seemed polite enough when you brought him around for breakfast, however long ago that was. A little quiet and moody, perhaps, but… nice."

Bethany giggled behind the back of her hand. "You should see him once you get to know him better, Mother."

Hawke pursed her lips, and Leandra frowned at her youngest daughter. "Oh? Am I missing something?" She looked back and forth between her children, but neither of them spoke. "You girls never tell me what you're about these days…" She shifted in her chair, brushing dog hair off her hands and skirt as Ruff began to circle Hawke impatiently.

Hawke sighed, glancing down at her dog. "It's nothing, Mother. You're not missing out on anything. Besides, you have enough moody people to worry about with Gamlen. And let's not forget your upcoming meeting with the viscount. I already told you how I met him, yesterday, after saving his son. Doesn't that make you happy?"

Her mother's face lit up with an excited glow. "Oh, Marian," she said, clasping her hands together. "I just know it'll all work out now. We'll be back in the old estate, just the fo… three of us." Her voice faded, and she looked down then, eyes starting to shimmer. "I just wish Carv… but no. We must focus on the here and now, and let Andraste guide our departed to the Maker's side."

Bethany's arm slowly paused mid-stroke, brush pulling her hair awkwardly out to one side. She, too, looked down.

Hawke's mouth flattened, but she remained quiet. "All right, all right, that's enough," she finally said after a few moments. "I've got quite enough brooding to deal with, without you all starting in on it, too."

She moved over to Bethany and gently pulled the brush free from her sister's thick, black hair, then gave her a jostling, sideways hug. "Everything is going to be great, yes? We're all healthy, happy, and together, right? Full bellies, clothes on our backs, roof over our heads? That's what matters."

Leandra stood and joined them, hugging both girls at once. "Of course, my darlings. I'm so very proud of you both. Your father would have been so pleased to see what wonderful young ladies you've become. As long as we're together, everything will be fine, no matter whether we get the estate or not."

Bethany gave a small laugh. "But things _would_ be a whole lot finer, dining on roast every night, dressed in Orlesian silks, with a big, soft bed for each of us to sleep in… in our own rooms." Her voice was wistful as she glanced to the small room the three of them shared.

Hawke smirked when her sister looked back. "Tell me about it. You _snore_. I can't sleep a wink some nights, it's no wonder I'm always exhausted."

"I do _not_ snore!" Bethany cried indignantly, crossing her arms as Hawke moved to the front door, Ruff at her heels. "_You_ do, though!"

"I never claimed to be very ladylike," Hawke called dismissively over her shoulder as she stepped out onto the landing. "Off I go again, no rest for the weary and all that. Be back soon!"

Her mother and sister called their goodbyes as she left with her mabari, heading for Hightown.

* * *

A timid knock at the front door awoke Fenris from a fitful sleep sometime around dusk. Anyone else probably would not have heard it, across a mansion and under a thick layer blankets. But, despite having rested only a few hours after an entire day and night on his feet, Fenris came awake fully. Before the second knock had even ended, he'd quickly slipped on one of his silk shirts and a clean pair of pants. He grumpily picked up his sword and stalked to the door.

_One guess as to who **this** may be, _he thought sourly,_ but I can never be too careful. Danarius's hunters are always coming up with new tricks… they've never tried just knocking_ _before, after all._

A more insistent rapping started as he approached the front door. Gripping his sword, he flung the door open, looking to catch the visitor off-guard as they pounded on it. He'd expected to see Hawke, or maybe a few incredibly foolish bounty hunters. But he was surprised to see an elf lad hop backwards off his doorstep instead.

"Maker! You scared me, messere," the youth said, voice cracking.

Fenris looked down at him, estimating the elven lad to be about twelve. He was tall for his age, gangly and awkward, but he looked hearty — especially for an elf.

_I wonder if I looked like this when I was that young? Who knows how old I really am, for that matter. But I know I was well past this… awkward age by the time I received my markings. _

_Just look at him — perhaps it is a small blessing, not having memories of being so… ungainly._

He gave the lad a flat stare. "You have the wrong manor, boy. Go away."

The boy looked up at him, shaking his head. "No messere, no mistaking you. The lady, uh, Mistress Hawke, said I'd know ya when I'd seen ya." His eyes went wide, and he swallowed audibly when Fenris crossed his arms and glowered down, waiting for an explanation. "N-now I see what she meant."

Fenris's lip curled. "So, she sent _you_ here to mock me instead of coming herself. I suppose I'll give her credit for originality." He felt his heart clench, inwardly cursing himself for a blind fool.

"No!" the youth squeaked, waving his hands emphatically. "No mockery, mister, ah, messere. Beggin' your pardon, messere, but she said you'd be 'a tall, hand… some elf, all in black…" he closed his eyes as he stiffly repeated her words, "… with wind-swept hair the color… of… of … of moonlight. There's no... mistaking him anywhere, in all of Thedas, trust me,' she said."

'_Wind-swept hair the color of moonlight_'_? Now I know the woman is having a laugh at my expense…_

When the lad opened his eyes again, he looked up at Fenris's face, gaze darting to and from the lyrium markings at his chin and throat. He swallowed again, protruding adam's apple bobbing as he timidly focused back on Fenris's narrowed eyes. "I'm just a weaponsmith's apprentice, out makin' deliveries." His youthful voice cracked again as he hastily added, "Messere."

The lad reached over to pick up a huge, cloth-wrapped parcel that he'd leaned against the wall next to the door. It was taller than he was by half. His reedy arms quavered as he lifted it, and small, boyish muscles bulged as he presented it to Fenris. "Uh, the lady sends it with her compliments and... asks your pardon for the... mis... misunderstanding earlier today," he recited, closing his eyes again he tried to remember the full message. His voice strained along with his muscles under the weight of the parcel.

"I see," Fenris said flatly, putting aside his greatsword and taking the tall bundle from the lad.

_This isn't heavy. Has Hawke put this boy up to some kind of… practical joke? To think, I got out of bed for this charade. Curse that woman and the day I met her._

As he untied the bundle suspiciously, the cloth fell away to reveal a massive two-handed weapon, broad and blunt along one edge and sharp on the other, where it hooked savagely at the tip. It had a wicked, pointed pommel, and three wooden grips that allowed the wielder to hold it in several different ways. It was longer even than Fenris's tall greatsword and looked absolutely menacing compared to the plain, dark blade that he usually wielded. It was unlike any sword Fenris had ever seen.

He shot the boy a puzzled look. "Hawke picked this out? She sent this?"

The lad shifted from one foot to the other, hands clasped behind his back. "Yes, messere. My master did not forge it himself, but he had previously purchased it from the lady some weeks ago. She said she had no use of it at the time, but now she uh... 'knows someone with… the strength, fortitude and… umm… f-finesse such a… magnificent blade requires. Be sure to tell him, just like that.' Her words, messere."

Fenris snorted before he could stop himself. _Strength, fortitude and finesse? Such blatant flattery. So, she acknowledges her slights to me, at least._

"I see," was all he said again, looking critically at the weapon.

_Hmm. There's very little wrong with it, at any rate. The edge seems to have gone off it, but they'd hardly keep it sharpened just to sit on a shelf. I'd prefer to take care of that myself anyway. _

_Balance is good, for it looking strange the way it does. And it will certainly leave an impression… mentally and physically. My pommel strike will be absolutely devastating now, to say nothing of my spinning attack. Yes, with a few practice sessions, I'll be used to it in no time._

"Does it have a name?" he asked, still running his eyes over the blade as he turned it effortlessly in his hands, testing the weight of it.

The apprentice didn't even bat an eye, familiar as he was with warriors' inclination to name their weapons. "I recall that she called it 'Hayder's Razor' when she first brought it in, messere. She said today she was tempted to rename it 'Fenris's Razor,' but didn't want to jinx it. For a lady, she seemed to know how it's bad luck to fiddle with these things, messere."

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

Then the youth's eyes went wide again a moment before he squeezed them shut, reciting another message. "But I am to tell you that... 'the name is not a slight against elves not growing beards, or anything like that. Maker, but even giving him a gift is fr... fraught with peril.'" He opened his eyes and blushed. "Uh... you probably weren't meant to hear that last bit."

Fenris tried not to roll his eyes. "Hmmm." He reached over to grab some of Danarius's coin off the small stack he'd kept by the door for the grocer's delivery boy, ever since selling off the magister's belongings.

He tossed a coin to the lad, who caught it deftly and smiled when he saw the color of silver. "Many thanks, messere! Oh, there's also a letter, messere," the boy said quickly, pulling out a folded piece of paper as he tucked away the coin. He held it out to Fenris, who just stared at it.

Fenris hastily turned his head, setting his new sword aside. He casually waved a hand, then crossed his arms again. "Just read it to me," he said, feigning indifference.

The boy looked down, ashamed. "I... I can't, messere. My parents… they've been with the Maker for years 'n years. So I never learnt. Been too busy with my 'prenticeship... That's why I memorize everything. Sorry, messere."

Fenris glared at him as he snatched the letter away. "That's no excuse, boy. Doesn't your Chantry teach such things, so everyone can read the words of Andraste? Or the smith, so you can run a shop of your own someday? Surely you must have a little free time. You're not constantly on the run, are you? _Fasta vass_, the way this city treats its poor..."

The boy's shame deepened, and he shrank visibly as Fenris berated him. "Of course, messere. You're right, messere."

"And stop calling me 'messere,'" he growled. "Do I look like someone of any importance to you?"

The lad's mouth worked soundlessly, unable to come up with a polite answer to the question.

Fenris clenched his jaw, then reached over to grab a handful of coins off the stack. He gestured severely for the boy to hold out his hand, then dropped the coins into his palm.

"There. Use that to hire a tutor for yourself, and your siblings, if you've got any. Make a donation at the Chantry if they'll teach you." The lad blinked up at him, confused. "Or spend it on whores and ale for all I care," he continued angrily, "just so long as you have her or the barkeep show you how to write your letters and your name. Just... do something useful with yourself. Get an education, boy."

The lad stood awkwardly, looking down again at the money. "Yes, mes... uh, yes. Thank you! A thousand times, thank you! I will do as you say, just so!" He shifted, doing a strange sort of dance as he juggled coins while trying to open his small coin pouch. "Do you wish me to take a message to the lady, messe... uh, to Mistress Hawke, that is?"

Fenris didn't even look at the useless note, working his jaw muscles in frustration for a moment. "No," he finally said. "I will just have to go see her personally in the morning." Then he slammed the door in the boy's face.

As he turned away from the door, he gave his old sword, Lethendralis, a glance.

_Perhaps I should have the lad take it away, have it melted down for slag. He's not yet gone. I still hear him out there… clinking and jingling._

Fenris scowled a bit, then thought almost fondly of all the times he'd used his sword, save one. At how far it had carried him over the past three years, since being given to him by the Fog Warriors. How he'd almost lost it several times, most recently while crossing the Minater River, spending a frantic day searching for it before he found it, the strap fortuitously hooked on a fallen tree limb some miles downstream.

_No. I should keep it as a reminder of my freedom, lest I forget myself as I did when I first… used it. _

He stared rigidly at it, trying to keep from flinching as finally the only memory of using the blade at Danarius's behest loomed in his mind. It was also his first memory of wielding it. He ran his eyes along at Lethendralis's blade somberly, knowing no matter how often he cleaned it, oiled it, sharpened it, or bathed it in the blood of slavers, it would never cleanse away the Fog Warriors' blood, or undo what he'd done.

_Having it melted down would not fix things, nor honor the fallen either._

After a quiet moment, he looked away, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, before he regarded his new sword.

_Besides, I've never had a spare weapon before. I wonder how much Hawke spent on it. Doubtless she haggled the weaponsmith down to near the price he'd originally offered her for it. Probably barely cost her a thing. How... frugal._ He pressed his lips together._  
_

_Still, two whole swords. _He snorted derisively to himself._ Would you look at me, I'm practically living in the lap of luxury now, like some fat magister. So many changes in so little time. Meeting Hawke has surely been… something. I just don't know what right now._

Feeling suddenly agitated and tired, Fenris hastily gathered up the weapons and carried them, along with the letter, back to his room.

He leaned his old sword up against his bed, planning to keep it on hand whenever he slept. The new sword he carried over to the table, where he set it down to tend to it with a whetstone later. He sat then in his usual chair, turning Hawke's letter over in his hands, eying it sourly.

_I might not be able to read it, but it is definitely her script — I've watched her write in her journal often enough, that the slants and curves of her hand are… familiar, if unintelligible._

A single short word was written on the outside of the letter. He squinted at it.

_I suppose that says 'Fenris,' not that it does me any good. For all I know, I'm holding it upside down. _

Reluctantly he opened it, in case there was anything else inside.

_No. Just more incomprehensible, undecipherable lines and curves. Damn that fool woman. And that fool boy for being illiterate. _

He gritted his teeth, casting his eyes blindly over the note.

* * *

Dear Fenris,

I'm sorry if you took my teasing the wrong way. It never occurred to me until you'd already gone that mentioning your ears might seem offensive.

I thought we had moved past these things, and were back to being joking, laughing friends, or whatever — but I understand that is no excuse. Please believe me when I say I never meant any insult. I truly have nothing against elves, or you. On the contrary, I admire you greatly.

This is all very awkward to write, especially with the smith and his apprentice both watching me. I hope the lad remembers to tell you everything; I let my tongue get carried away a bit. I would come myself, but I am dead on my feet and likely to put my foot in my mouth. So forgive the boy if he says anything particularly thoughtless, and just attribute it to me. I just couldn't sleep, so I went out to buy new daggers, then decided to get you something, too, to apologize.

I'm rambling, so I will close now, with the hope that you will enjoy your new sword. It is so big and unwieldy that the smith has not been able to sell it in the weeks since I sold it to him, but I know you have the skill it takes to really tear the place up with it. I fear the smith has ripped me off, refusing to let the thing go for anything but double what he paid me for it, despite no one showing interest in it except me. But it is worth it, I think. You are -wor- welcome to it.

I look forward to seeing you use it soon, and I hope you will come to The Hanged Man tomorrow to meet up with me and Varric. Don't make me come get you. (That was a joke. Oh forget it, sarcasm is so difficult to pull off in written form.)

Yours,

~ M. Hawke

P.S. I actually rather like your ears. (That was not sarcasm, nor a joke, just to be clear. So please do not test your new blade out on me. (Also not a joke.))

* * *

After staring at it for a minute and gleaning absolutely no information from it, Fenris chucked it aside, muttering curses under his breath. Then he stood and shed his clothing, before getting back into bed. He hauled the covers up over himself and tried to go back to sleep.

_It is obviously some kind of apology, if she sent a gift. And that boy, with all those messages to tell me. What did he call it, a 'misunderstanding'?_

_The only misunderstanding is that she thinks she can buy my pride for the price of a sword. A cheap sword. _

_No, I do not accept her apology, whatever it may say. Probably something like, 'You weren't meant to find out I'm prejudiced against elves,' or, 'As far as elves go, you're not so bad.' I don't know why I'm even surprised. She would be neither the first nor the last to mock me. And yet, I thought she... no.  
_

_It doesn't matter. No doubt this is somehow all my fault. Again. Venhedis. Fasta vass._

_That woman. Sending some fool child here with that thing. An elf boy at that. Was that supposed to be some kind of gesture of good-will? Did she think I'd feel better, being awoken by some scrawny, illiterate, weak, little… elf? That we'd enjoy chatting about having long ears, and being an oppressed race? Ridiculous._

_Forget it. I'll sort it out tomorrow. _

_I should be able to sleep, as tired as I am. Damn that weasely Chantry sister, and that… sick templar. They have no idea what they are doing, goading the Qunari, of all people, into open war. If they'd seen the destruction I have on Seheron, they would weep tears of blood and beg the Maker that the Arishok completes his task with all haste._

_I should have just slain them both in the foundry district. Would have saved us a night plus a day's worth of trouble. Not to mention any trouble yet to come.  
_

_Well, at least it is over with. For now._

_Hawke. Throwing the money away to those… wretches. Probably they will go right out and spend it on ale. No doubt The Hanged Man is packed tonight. Varric will have quite the audience to tell the tale of how we saved the viscount's son. Though I suppose he'll make most of the coin back in free drinks, at least…_

_Hawke. She'll be the death of us all. Maybe it's better that I don't understand her. At least I know my own mind._

Though he was weary, Fenris tossed and turned in this fashion for a good hour, thoughts still churning at what was in Hawke's letter, what he could say to her tomorrow to keep her from suspecting, and wondering when and how Sister Petrice and Ser Varnell would next turn up.

When he finally fell asleep again, his dreams were dark and troubling. In them, in battles filled with running, fire, blood, and death, he fought endlessly — sometimes with, sometimes against Hawke, facing nameless, faceless enemies that wanted to enslave him again.

Too often, they won.


	26. Missing Pieces, Part 1

**A/N:** Since this chapter covers another important quest for the overall plot, I'm going to have to break it up as well. The first half is already mega-long!

Trying something a little different this time though. I've left a cliffhanger at the end, and you can let me know in a review what path you want the next bit of the story to take. I could honestly see it going either way, so I'm undecided myself. Help me nudge my muse, if you'd like.

Either way, I hope you enjoy the new chapter. BioWare owns all.

* * *

Hearing a soft noise, Fenris's ears twitch, pointed tips thrusting back ever so slightly. The coarse sheet of his narrow bed chafes at the tender skin, and elsewhere a few errant pieces of hay are poking through the thin fabric to jab his limbs uncomfortably. Despite the sudden awareness of discomfort, he forces his eyes to remain closed, his breathing to stay deep and even, pretending to sleep on.

_Go away. Please just go away. So tired. Too tired. I have neither the ability to resist nor the strength to endure, tonight. Believe I am dead to the world and in no position to 'entertain.' Just go away… please, please, please._

A heavy feeling of dread settles onto his chest, like a boulder pressing the breath out of him. He panics at first, but a slave's instinct squeezes his eyes shut to keep them from flying open in fear and stills his hands to keep them from curling into useless fists.

_Yes, if you remain quiet, she will still think you asleep, merely tossing and turning in your dreams. You must not cry out, must try not to bolt. Be calm, focus on breathing evenly. Relax…_ The dark calmness settles over him, lulling him into a sense of security.

But no.

He can feel her presence now, lurking in the shadows. The soft rustling of her robes makes his heart sink further, and a weak, tired whimper of frustration escapes his throat.

The placid heaviness latches onto that weakness then, utterly flattening what little hope he had.

"I know you are awake, Little Wolf. I saw your ears prick up," she whispers knowingly. "You were moving your arms and legs in your sleep. Were you fighting qunari again, or just chasing rabbits, pet?" A soft, cruel giggle.

_Get up. Confront her. Kill her! If nothing else, flee across the hall to Danarius's chambers — seek his aid if you must. Do not just let her do this to you! Fight! _

Despite the brush with rage, Fenris lays paralyzed on the bed. Whether he is unable or unwilling to move, however, he does not know.

She is close now, looking down on him. Her hand reaches towards his head, one cold finger tracing along his ear. He cannot help but shudder.

"Your ears will always give you away, pet. Even at night." She flicks the pointed tip, so hard that he yelps. But her other hand clamps swiftly over his mouth to muffle the cry, and the sound does not carry beyond his small room.

"Shh, you don't want to wake Danarius, do you? I'm afraid he would never approve of you and me, Fenris." She leans down to whisper it in his ear, the long nails of the hand over his mouth biting painfully into his cheeks. "A magister and a _knife-ear_? It just isn't done!" she coos.

Her tone is utter mockery, and he wishes he had the energy to bite her hand, but he is so exhausted now. Hadriana gives him a simpering smile. "But how can I keep myself away when I see how you look at me, with those big, green, puppy-dog eyes. You missed me _so much_ while you and Danarius were in Seheron, I can tell."

He had been looking at her — just now, in horror and impotent anger. He closes his eyes at her teasing words, trying to jerk his head to the side. But she tightens her grip on his face, and her bony, cold fingers dig in savagely to hold him still. "Bad boy," she chastises. "Stay…"

Fenris's face aches and burns under her harsh touch, anger bubbling past his resignation.

_You are free now, yes? She has no right to touch you this way. She never had any right, even when you belonged to Danarius. Fight her! Plunge your fist through her black heart!_ Rage urges him to squirm, to fight back.

But his body feels heavy, so heavy, and grows even heavier. _This will go quicker if you do not struggle, remember?_ He quiets, allowing himself to gaze impassively up at her. The dark, lulling calmness steals further into him. _That's it. Focus inward. Calm. It will be over soon, and then you can go back to sleep. She will not risk staying long, not with Danarius so close at hand. She will hound your sleep for a while longer, and then you can rest… rest__…_  


"Good boy. Guess you are finally using those ugly, big ears." She gives him a smile that doesn't even come close to reaching her icy blue eyes. Her smirk hardens into an imperious glare, the kind that comes so easily to even the youngest magister's apprentice. "Now, roll over," she commands.

He gives her the barest of nods. His distressed consciousness fractions off into a safe, quiet place as it so often does, leaving behind a sliver of awareness, of instinctual, compliant Little Wolf.

She releases him, and he rolls onto his stomach, heavy, gold collar clinking as he turns. The short, thin tunic bearing Danarius's sigil twists beneath him, riding up and gaping at the back. It leaves him very exposed, but he is too far gone to experience embarrassment now. He once more lays motionless.

_What are you doing here? Even in the Fade, you cannot gain your freedom?_ an alarmed, strangely familiar voice whispers._ What of your skill? What of your bravery? How have you come so far, yet remain here in your mind? _It sounds sad and concerned. The pity in its tone almost causes Fenris to shy away from it, but it is so familiar_…__  
_

Hadriana undoes the ties of his tunic at the neck and small of the back, sliding the fabric to the sides. Her movements are not sensual — they are possessive and demanding. "One day, Fenris, when Danarius has taught me all I wish to know, I will kill him and take you for my own," she says conversationally. He does not move as her clammy, indifferent hands rub up and down his sides and shoulders, even though he wants to recoil. Her touch forces him to recall the blazing pain of the lyrium markings as she passes over them, and it's like they are branded into him anew.

"When that day comes, I hope you will remember what we are to one another, you and I. I'd hate to have to kill you to get to him. It would be a _pity_." Her nails rake down his sides, and he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out in torment.

She continues speaking, either unaware or uncaring that her touch brings him nothing but misery. "You may be his bodyguard, but we both know you are worth ten Danariuses — you are unique, after all. He is just another magister. A clever one, perhaps, and a powerful one. But we all line up to take his place, the apprentices. He must eventually fall, for it has been that way for centuries."

She runs one long nail down Fenris's spine, sighing wistfully. "I'm so glad he left some blank skin for me to work with. Hmm." His skin crawls as she ponders him like he is an old, outmoded sitting room or an overgrown herb garden. "Perhaps I'll brand your back with a declaration of your love for me, written in lyrium so everyone will know how richly you long for your new mistress."

At the mention of more lyrium branding, he manages to summon a flicker of rage. _No. No more markings. Never. She knows nothing of love, and you hate her beyond reason, beyond words. Bitch! Yes, get angry! Go now! _He seethes, and struggles against the oppressive lethargy.

_Leave him alone. You all twist his own desires against him, _the familiar voice whispers, a little louder now. _His brave defiance should not be warped by the likes of you._

_Leave me alone! No more markings! I do not want them, I do not want to remember this place, I do not want Hadriana or Danarius or anyone! _The Fade shifts as Fenris's mind begins to assert itself, beings of the Fade reacting to his thoughts and memories.

Unseen, a rage demon chases away the being of sloth that has lulled Fenris into compliance. Sensing this, the desire spirit redoubles her seductive efforts. Hadriana's shade slips one hand up into Fenris's hair and the other strokes the side of his neck. She tries to massage him back to calmness, but the simulacrum is _too_ good, too like the real Hadriana.

Fenris cringes violently away from her. A low growl rumbles up from his chest. _I hate you... do not touch me. You have no right, you do not own me. Danarius owns..._

But the rage demon must have been driven off, for a sluggishness crushes the will out of him anew. His snarl fades to a whimper, and he can almost feel Hadriana's predatory smile.

_No, Danarius does not own me either! I do not want this. I never wanted it, never wanted him or her. I want… I want… _Sloth presses onto him, trying to make him forget_,_ but Fenris can feel defiance building slowly._ Why. Why must I continue to suffer under her hateful touch, even now that I am free? Why these nightmares of torment? This darkness? Why can't I move? I need light. I need to wake up. I need… I need… _

_Yes, think of light, and I will find you, _the comforting voice says. It sounds nearer, but it echoes like it is searching him out from deep within a cave.

Fenris struggles to focus on something bright, good and decent, to find something positive in his waking life. _The Fog Warriors kindness. My first bath. A hot, unhurried meal. Sleeping under the stars. Walking in a stream. Climbing a tree. Running on soft grass.__ Listening to music._ Riding in a wagon. My good fortune in hitching a ride with Anso into Kirkwall. Deciding to hire him. Him finding Hawke. A fine bottle of wine, shared with her. Conversing with her. Listening to her. Fighting by her side. Even arguing with her makes me feel more alive than I can ever remember.

A silvery glow begins to light the small chamber. Fenris can feel the sluggishness loosen, can sense Hadriana hesitating. Seizing the opportunity, he rolls off the bed into a low crouch, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Come, pet," she purrs. "Don't you want me? Do you not long to claim me, to make me love an elf despite myself? To have a magister look at you like this? Did you never dare to think of us, how together we could kill Danarius?" Her eyes go wide, appearing dewy and soft. It momentarily reminds him of Hawke. The silver glow brightens at that, making Hadriana's expression seem almost comical in comparison, once viewed in the bright, clear light.

Fenris laughs darkly. "You cannot fool me, Hadriana. I have seen the real thing now, in…" His words cut off as he struggles to hold the thoughts of Hawke in his mind. Sloth slips over him again, and Hadriana's wormy lips twist into a knowing pout.

"So, that is what you _desire_…" She beings to unlace her magister's robes, and Fenris sees there is leather armor underneath.

He tries to shake his head, struggling to awaken._ I do not want this. I do not want thoughts of Hawke to be tainted by these… festering memories, to be perverted by the echoes of Hadriana's sick plotting. _

_Hawke is the truest good I know. Let me keep at least the memory of her unblemished, since I cannot stop ruining things in the waking world. She is brave in ways I am too broken to be._

The silver light flashes along the far wall behind Hadriana, morphing it into a pile of fallen rocks. Hawke crouches there, lit silver from within and limned with a red glow. She holds a small knife in one hand, eyes focused on Hadriana's back.

"You can overcome this, Fenris. But if you cannot see it in yourself, I will show you," the vision of Hawke says. Fenris recognizes her voice now.

Something about the scene feels familiar. He looks to the side, seeing one of Hawke's missing daggers there, protruding from the back of a dead qunari's leg. The shifting reality startles him out of his stupor, and he lunges for it before sloth can overtake him again.

He sends the blade skittering across the floor, spinning it on instinct as he does so, its revolutions holding it on a straight, true path to Hawke's feet. "Hawke!"

She gives him a smile.

Hadriana whirls, half undressed, starting to look more like Hawke herself. But the real Hawke, the spirit his thoughts of her summoned, snatches up the dagger. She leaps, arcing through the air onto the desire demon's chest.

Fenris rises to his feet, watching them struggle. Sloth has abandoned him to join the fight between twisted desire and valor. Fenris looks around wishing for a sword, but the Fade does not respond to his will — only mages have that power. He looks at his empty, lyrium-lined hands, first cursing his lack of magic, then magic itself for existing in the first place.

_She must have seen only Hadriana. I only saw Hadriana. I had no idea there was another… I thought it just my own weakness, my own powerlessness._

He looks back up, anguished and concerned as Hawke whirls and slashes.

_She cannot win against two as strong as they. Surely the demons of the Fade drawn to me in dreams are far stronger than any spirit who would take pity on me — my heart is too dark, I am too broken.  
_

_She cannot do this. She should not do this, not for me. I don't deserve her._

Hawke fights frantically, trying to drive off the others. Fenris watches helplessly as Hadriana grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head savagely to one side. Hawke tries to raise a dagger to plunge into the magister's chest as long nails rake at her neck. Before she can strike, her eyes go half-lidded and dull as the torpor steals up from behind.

Fenris knows in his heart that she has lost.

_She will die. I cannot bear to watch this. I do not want to see her die. I don't want to dream of her death. I must wake up. _

Hawke is born to the ground heavily by some dark force, landing on her side and rolling awkwardly away. He can see that her right arm looks out of place, the angle of it all wrong. Her face is screwed up in pain. She bleeds from dark scratches all over, silver light fading, red outline flickering away to darkness.

_She was too weak. I was too weak. I don't want to see this, I don't want to think about it. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

Fenris closes his eyes as the sloth and desire demons rise. They incline their heads graciously to him — he can see it anyway, even behind closed lids. Turning their backs to him, they descend on the weakened spirit of valor at their feet.

_This is all my fault. She will die because of me. I must open my eyes._

* * *

His moss green eyes snapped open in the waking world, but Fenris held very still for a long while, mind working furiously to untangle this last, disturbing nightmare.

Once he had risen, bathed, eaten and dressed, he had decided what must be done. _I can't do this anymore. It is too much. She stirs up too many memories, too many emotions._

_We can be acquaintances, but not friends. Obviously after what she said yesterday, we will also never be anything more. So I must put her out of my mind. Keep her at a distance. Set her on her guard, and she will stay away like all the others. And then when this expedition is over, I will move on, and forgetting will be easy. I just want to forget all of it.  
_

He picked up his new sword and set out somberly for Lowtown.

* * *

**28 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

I did not have enough energy yesterday to write of what happened with the Chantry sister the night before last. As might be made obvious by that fact, the woman's job turned out to be somewhat more involved than planned on. While I'd rather not relate every long, tiresome hour spent slogging through the Undercity sewers, or each bloodstained step back down the coast to Kirkwall, I shall endeavor to relate the general outline of what happened.

The woman, Sister Petrice, wanted us to help a qunari mage that she'd 'rescued.' She made a big show of how the Qunari enslaved their mages, collaring them, binding their lips behind masks and generally treating them worse than dogs. She said Ketojan (or Saarebas, which was his Qunari rank-name,) was the sole survivor of some kind of confrontation — I am sketchy on the true particulars, but either she and her templar boyfriend set up the whole thing, or at the very least took advantage of a chance encounter between the Qunari and Tal-Vashoth.

Petrice somehow brought Saarebas back to Kirkwall, and proceeded to look for someone to help the mage 'escape' through a secret passage under her safehouse in Lowtown. Meanwhile Ser Varnell, the templar, left a trail of Saarebas's squadmates' bodies leading to the secret passage exit near the Vimmark Mountains.

They set about hiring someone of no consequence but enough skill to see the job done — enter me — with the intention that the Qunari would come across the trail of bodies, then slaughter the unsuspecting hirelings for stealing away one of their bound mages. Thus the Qunari, now with human blood on their giant hands, would look so monstrous for binding their own mages and killing well-meaning idiots — me again — that the Chantry and viscount would have to react to the Qunari presence in Kirkwall.

Unfortunately, I disappointed Petrice by surviving my encounter with the Qunari — although I am sad to report that the saarebas did not. Well, that is not entirely correct. He survived the encounter, but said he was compelled to die by the Qun, since he could not be certain that he was not tainted by demons during his brief period of freedom. It seems that the Qunari have each mage leashed to an arvaarad, (literally 'one who holds back evil' — Anders would love that,) and without the presence of the arvaarad it is assumed that the mage and everyone around them becomes tainted by demons. Kind of like a bad cough, but the medicine is death.

I had no way to persuade Saarebas otherwise, and he immolated himself before my very eyes. It was not a pleasant thing to watch.

I returned to Kirkwall and confronted Petrice, but she would admit to very little directly. She did not seem to be dissuaded from her goal either, despite the setback with her plans. She and Ser Varnell may have some suspicions about Bethany, or I would gladly report them both to the authorities. As it is, I should rightly talk to the Arishok about this, and warn him of treachery from this unlikely quarter.

As far as Bethany's safety, I think the threat of being turned in to the authorities may be enough to stay Petrice and Varnell's hand against her as well. They have already vacated their safehouse, which was directly across the street, of all the blasted luck. With the expedition imminent, I fear I am forced to take the risk regardless. I have a lot of money saved up, but it belongs to the others as much as me. Besides, the coin would not go far if I had to uproot my family again. Investing it in the expedition and returning swiftly to reclaim our noble status is the best chance I have of keeping Bethany safe.

It would be hard to leave my new friends and companions behind anyway. I have grown quite fond of many of them, some more than others, but they would all be missed.

Speaking of which, I inadvertently insulted Fenris yesterday just as we were wrapping things up. My only excuses are that I had been awake for nearly a day and a half, and that seeing a mage burn himself to death just after having my arm popped back into place did not sharpen my logic, nor apparently did it improve my social graces.

Not that my excuses make me feel any better, or make what I said correct. I mentioned his ears rather vaguely, meaning to compliment him on his uncannily sensitive hearing, but he took it as a slight on being an elf. He must have been tired too, because instead of arguing as we so often do, he simply left.

I sent him a new sword and a letter of apology, hoping to smooth things over. It was the sword I took from the man who double-crossed Isabela, at that duel she hired us to help with the night I met her. I think Fenris will like it. I hope he will like it. It cost a pretty penny and no one else in Kirkwall could wield it. If Fenris doesn't want it, I fear I will have one of the most ridiculous, expensive doorstops in all of the Free Marches.

I hope he didn't sit up in that mansion of his brooding all night. I can't even imagine all the things he's been through in his life — I don't want to imagine them, honestly — but the thought of him upset over my thoughtless words is dreadful. Perhaps I should have gone to see him instead of sending a messenger? But no, I would likely have made things worse. I will go to him today if he does not show up this morning. And I will do whatever it takes to make this right.

I don't want to fight him anymore. As much pride as I usually take in being right and winning arguments, there is little pleasure in seeing him angry or hearing him apologize. The last thing I want is to add to his pain.

But I am getting distracted. Today is a big day, for I will be taking Bartrand the fifty sovereigns and the Grey Warden maps, and officially partnering on the expedition. As I mentioned earlier, I also intend to speak with the Arishok if he will see me. And there is some other matter of a missing noblewoman that Bethany wanted me to look into in Hightown as well.

It occurs to me that I'll need to gather everyone together at The Hanged Man too, to speak about the expedition — although I still have not come up with a good way to break the news to Bethany that she'll be staying behind.

Well, with such a busy day ahead, I should probably put down my pen and get going. Let us hope this day is not as long as the previous two. Only two more days until it is a new month — it definitely feels like the end and beginning of a lot of things.

* * *

Hawke hastily shoved a blank sheet of blotting paper into her journal before snapping it shut as Bethany walked past to answer a terse knock at the door. _Last thing I need is her sneaking a peek at my journal, and finding out that I'm not going to take her on the expedition, _Hawke thought._  
_

"I wonder who this could be," Bethany said with exaggerated curiosity, giving her sister a meaningful glance that said they both knew exactly who it was. "This is a good sign. You both are finally behaving like adults." She gave Hawke an encouraging smile before she opened the door.

Hawke's stomach did a nervous sort of flop, but she rose from her seat. _Fenris. At least he came._

"Fenris," Bethany echoed from the door, smiling at the visitor that Hawke could not see from where she stood facing the writing desk. "Maker smile on you this day. I trust you are well?"

"Hmm, not really, no. But I do not wish to trouble you with my problems. I came to see Hawke. Has she already gone to The Hanged Man?"

_He sounds as terrible as he looked yesterday. And still angry. Maker, if my letter didn't help, then what in Andraste's name can I say?_

"You haven't missed her yet. She's right here." Bethany gestured graciously for him to enter, but Fenris remained on the landing. She hesitated, growing uncomfortable. "Um, I-I'll just leave you two alone, then."

_Damn. He must have quite the severe look on his face to make Bethany react like that. _Hawke tucked her journal under her arm, suddenly glad she'd taken the time to fully dress and brush her hair before sitting down to write in it. She took one deep breath, then walked over to the door.

"Good morning, Fenris," she said, nodding to him without meeting his eyes. Then she caught a glimpse over his shoulder. Three long, wooden grips rose over his head, ending in a pointed, metal pommel. She smiled, looking excitedly to his green eyes. "You've got your new sword with you! Do you like it? I'd hoped you…" Her words trailed off as she took in the expression on his face.

He glanced disinterestedly over his shoulder at the weapon. "It is better than my old one, I suppose." Flat eyes turned back to hers, and he did not return her smile.

Her smile faltered a bit. "A-and my note? Didn't you read it?" She heard Bethany's footsteps in the next room, so Hawke stepped out onto the landing and pulled the door shut behind her.

Fenris took her moment of distraction to clench his teeth, glancing ashamedly to the side. He faced her blankly once she stood before him again. "I received it," he said, half-truthfully.

_Maker, he looks so sad and hollow. Again, _she thought, heart clenching painfully._ I can't bear it any longer. No amount of my pride is worth seeing him like this. It is breaking my heart anyway — if I get hurt, so be it._ "I meant it. Every word I wrote," she said fervently. _And so many more that I was too much of a coward to write._

Hawke searched his face with the same open tenderness he'd seen too often from her, and Fenris had to look away again. _She is making this harder to do_, he thought, _and yet I must. But I cannot remember any of the things I had planned to say, now. I will let her finish speaking, doubtless it will come back to me._

"I guess my letter was insufficient," she went on quietly, when he looked away and didn't respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her draw herself up as if making up her mind about something. "Please let me apologize again, in person this time, for my thoughtless remark. I really, truly, honest-to-Andraste-and-the-Maker never meant anything bad by it. I meant it as a compliment on your keen hearing, ironically." She took a step towards him. "It's been so helpful. You've been so… helpful." The sincerity in her voice held him, and he could not bring himself to move away. She continued speaking, though her voice was barely a whisper now. "I… love your ears. I think they're beautiful."

_So soft and hesitant — yet she said 'love' and 'beautiful.'_ Though he still looked away, Fenris hung on every word, growing distracted. So distracted that, with his hair shielding his eyes, he did not notice her raise her hand.

The tips of her fingers brushed lightly along the top of his ear, up to the point, then started to trail down the underside.

He jerked, unprepared for her intimate touch, and she snatched her hand away. The tender moment seemed to pop like a bubble.

"I'm sorry, Fenris. I don't… I don't know what came over me," she blurted, clasping her hand to her chest as if having to restrain it. "That was overly familiar of me. I went too far — I know you don't want to be touched. Maker, some way to apologize… I am an _idiot_."

He tried to meet her eyes but couldn't, focusing instead on her lips. She chewed at the bottom one nervously, and he shivered at the thought of her nibbling instead on his ear. "You do not know much about elves, do you," he said huskily. It wasn't a question.

Hawke took his tone for brusqueness. She blushed and looked askance when he spoke. "I admit, I don't." Then she forced her hands to her sides, staring down at his feet. "But it's not because I look down on them, or on you. I just lived a sort of… sheltered life, being on the run with my family. My mother ran off with an apostate after all, and we rarely stayed in one place long enough to get to know the humans, to say nothing of the elves. Even in Lothering, they kept almost entirely to themselves and so did my family, mostly."

Fenris tried to concentrate on her words and shake off the lingering feeling of her touch. He was barely holding onto his planned detached and distant attitude in the face of the startling realization that Hawke's feelings for him might go deeper than he knew. _Perhaps I was wrong, thinking this attraction was one-sided. If even half her overtures were meant as more than just pity or idle flirting…_

His thoughts began to spiral out of control, and he grasped for familiar footing. _Does this really change things? If anything, it will only make it worse. The nightmares, losing focus, the lack of control. _

_She does not know the things I am capable of… or the things I am not. _He sighed inwardly._ I am still too broken. I cannot give her what she desires or deserves. As my nightmares have shown, I am not only wrong for her but also dangerous for her._

Thus sobered, he crossed his arms, staring at the top her hung head, for she still gazed at the ground. "You do not take the time to think, Hawke. You should have a care, especially around me." She flinched slightly, shuffling her feet.

_At least she is distracted from the letter,_ he thought with some little satisfaction._ However, now I wish I knew what it said. To entertain the thought of being with her… _

_But if what I suspect is true, then it is even more important that I put her on her guard. Things will go badly for both of us if I forget who I am. If she cannot see it, then I must see it for both of us._

_If I snapped, I could hurt her, I know that already. I know I cannot control myself when she touches me. _

_But what if she puts herself in harm's way because of me? The nightmare showed me what I could scarce recall from yesterday's battle with Arvaarad. Seeing her fall was… terrible. I'm glad I didn't remember it. I can't bear it. I can't. _

_Especially not if…_

"I do care, Fenris. I mean, I have a care. For you. For everyone." She sighed, rubbing at her forehead. He tried not to read too much into her words, but it was difficult when it was what he both wanted and feared to hear. He let the silence stretch, knowing the pressure of it would weigh heavily on her. "I will be more careful in general, I promise," she finally said with resignation.

He steeled himself with the thought of her injured arm, then leaned down slightly so their faces would be level. "See that you do, Hawke. You could have gotten yourself killed yesterday with that reckless stunt you pulled." He tried to keep his voice even and rational, balling his hands at his sides to keep from grabbing her shoulders. Whether he wanted to take hold of her to shake her or embrace her was a mystery that he refused to solve.

"Diving off a pile of broken rocks and onto Arvaarad with only a knife? You're fortunate that I was there, that the worst injury you sustained was dislocating your shoulder. I have seen arvaarad fight before. You could have been killed."

She looked up while he spoke, her expression turning from embarrassed to puzzled to incredulous. "_Me_ killed? You rushed Arvaarad and his guards, alone! Then you turned your back on two of them, while you fought the third in some kind of… of… blind rage." Fenris did not let his face acknowledge the truth of what she said.

Her eyes grew concerned when he did not react or respond. "Do you even remember? Did you even _see_ me behind them?" she asked, sounding exasperated. "If _I_ hadn't been there, knifing the other karashok in the back of the knee and distracting Arvaarad, I'd probably be holding a vigil for you at the Chantry right now."

Fenris wondered if the Orlesian Chantry funeral vigils were also just for family and loved ones, or if it differed from the Imperial Chantry. _The thought of her mourning me…_

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "No, no, I refuse to argue with you again. We are both alive and well, and that is all that matters. We fight well together, but we're still learning how best to support one another. That's all."

He blinked at her calm reply. He had planned to provoke her into an argument, to let her drive herself away. But he had not expected this, nor her rebuttal that he'd been the reckless one. _I can hardly argue if the entire battle is a blur._

He gave the only response he could think of.

"Hmm."

They regarded each other warily. After a moment she asked, with a half-smile, "So, shall we call all of this water under the bridge? I don't think I can afford another sword." She gestured over his shoulder.

After a long moment, Fenris shrugged, then unhooked Hayder's Razor from his back. He considered both the sword he turned in his hands and some way to dissuade Hawke. She stepped back, giving the weapon a wide berth as she watched him.

_I cannot throw her generosity, kindness and concern back in her face. After going so long without those things from anyone… but I must say something, must do something to make her rethink this. The nightmares, the blanking out, the recklessness, the rawness of all this... it's too much.  
_

"I don't know," he said after his minute of solemn introspection. "I have not used it yet." He lifted the sword into the air with one hand, knowing he must look menacing and dangerous. He hoped she would take a hint from it.

Sunlight flashed off the round, golden medallion inlaid near the tip. Her eyebrows went up appreciatively, and he gave her a dark, evil smile as he brandished the sword. "It definitely isn't subtle," she said with a laugh, utterly undeterred. "But I thought it might suit you."

Fenris sighed with dismay at her reaction, letting his face go neutral again. "Doubtless I stand out even more now." He returned the sword to his back, then raised an eyebrow at her as he recalled something. He laced his voice with the irritation he'd felt yesterday, during the frustrating encounter with the elf delivery boy. "No mistaking me anywhere, in all of Thedas, correct? I believe those were your words, though I was half-asleep at the time."

She gave a weak smile at his tone. "As I wrote in my note, I was dead on my feet and rambling on top of it all. But it's good to know Vashyn remembered what I said… I guess. Why he told you that _particular_ part is beyond me. I hope he didn't say much else."

Fenris forced himself to stare silently at her. _I will not ask her about how she referred to my hair. Or my 'strength, fortitude and finesse.' Or any of the other compliments she has paid me. If I reflect on it, I see now that she's been making them fairly regularly... _

_No. I won't think on them. I can't.  
_

Her hands began to twist together as she buckled under his glare. "But you're right. I guess I wasn't thinking then either, sending him to your mansion when I should have known you were sleeping. _And_ I didn't think about making you stand out more, but you're right, there, too. Your old sword was much less… showy." Hawke frowned, shaking her head at all her newly realized shortcomings. She looked away, her arms folding around herself, becoming the very picture of discouraged. "Maker, what _have_ I been thinking?" she muttered to herself.

Fenris frowned, guessing that he'd succeeded with his coldness and scolding in putting her on her guard. He already regretted it. "Think no more on it," he said tiredly, uncrossing his arms and waving a hand dismissively. "I am not worth this much thought."

He bit his tongue against an admission of admiration that wanted to spill out of him, holding the thought of his nightmare in the forefront of his mind — her laying bloodied and broken on the floor, because of him.

Hawke too made as if to speak, then thought better of it as she glanced at his grave expression. She shook her head slowly, then with more resolve. "You're right again, I suppose. I should just hold my tongue, before I say something else that we'll both regret."

_Being right was never this disappointing before, _he thought._ She really has turned my world on its head._

They stood there silently for a moment, fidgeting and not looking at one another, both trying to ignore the aching of their chests.

"I guess we should go get Varric, and head to the docks to see the Arishok," Hawke said quietly. "I want the Qunari to know that Saarebas honored the Qun to the last. And I suppose I should warn the Arishok about Sister Petrice, before she drags us all into war."

Fenris nodded mutely, and they walked towards The Hanged Man, inches from each other but seemingly worlds apart.

As they neared the tavern, they passed a group of grubby, downtrodden elves that lingered near the marketplace waiting for work.

"Fenris?" she asked.

He glanced over at her, trying to moisten his dry mouth before he spoke. She looked thoughtful, but still quite forlorn. He tried not to remember that he was intentionally the reason for the latter. "Yes?"

"Just for future reference, what _is_ a polite way to refer to elven ears?" Hawke gave him a guarded glance.

"Hmm." He thought about it for a moment. "It's probably best to avoid it if possible, but I can think of nothing offensive about the term 'pointy-eared.'" He gave her a slight smile, hoping to undo a little of what he'd done. She remained serious.

"All right." She stopped in front of the tavern door, gazing at his own long, pointed ears before nodding. Her hands did not move at all this time. "Pointy ears. Got it."

Sensing that he should probably leave well enough alone, he reached over and opened the door, gesturing silently for her to enter.

* * *

"You again, human." The Arishok lifted his chin, eying Hawke down the steps of his dais without bothering to stand. He seemed to take a special, appreciative note of Fenris, but utterly ignored Varric.

_Maybe Varric reminds him too much of Jevaris, _Hawke thought._ More likely he's just too short, and the Arishok can't see him… _She forced her face to seriousness then, matching her expression to her purpose here.

"Greetings, Arishok. I came to inform you that I've had confrontations with others in your command." Hawke stared directly up into the massively horned Qunari's eyes, standing tall and not flinching away from her admission, all as Fenris had advised earlier when they'd spoken in Varric's suite at The Hanged Man.

_I hope he was right about this, that the Arishok will not kill me for admitting I slew Arvaarad and his men. I mean, I do trust Fenris, but my trust won't do him much good if I'm dead… not that he seems particularly interested in what I think of him. No, no use going on about that now._

_Anyway, it's just that the Qun makes little sense, compared to normal concepts of justice and honor. Aveline would probably have a fit if she ever had to make sense of the Qunari._

The Arishok pursed his thick, bluish lips, regarding her quietly. Finally he rumbled, "There have been a number of incidents, but you must mean Arvaarad, found dead after tracking Saarebas." He shifted slightly in his seat, one thick brow quirking up just a fraction above a pale eye. "I thought nothing could threaten Arvaarad."

Hawke forced herself not to look at Fenris. She could feel he stood unwaveringly a step behind her on her right. _It took everything we both had and my strongest poison to bring Arvaarad down, and it still was a near thing._ "You are not angry?" she asked, trying not to sound hesitant or relieved.

"A mage is dead. That is what matters. The rest is… impressive." He appraised her again, then his eyes narrowed. "But do not repeat it."

She gave him a hint of a nod, enough to acknowledge his statement without admitting fault, again just as Fenris had instructed her. "I believe a member of the Chantry intended it to happen," she added darkly.

The large qunari made a sharp, sideways chopping gesture, and when he spoke he sounded disgusted. "Friend and enemy blend together in this sea of filth. I can barely discern one group from another." He shook his head once, sweeping, gold-banded horns making the slight movement seem much more pronounced. "But as this clearly means something to you, I acknowledge the risk taken."

_I don't know if the Arishok truly grasps what this could signify, but __**I**__ certainly don't want to be the one to urge him to some rash action. He seems to have half a mind to raze the city already. I've said what I came to say. Almost. _

"Saarebas chose death over leaving the Qun." She broached the topic directly, once more trusting Fenris that speaking with the Qunari did not require so much the application of her charm and silver-tongue as it needed directness and honesty.

_At least Fenris thinks me charming. That's a start. Isn't it?_ she thought hopefully, but fighting down the urge to grimace.

Her distraction retreated as the Arishok shifted in his wide seat. "That is good to hear." His response was terse and flat.

"That is all you have to say?" she asked, slightly taken aback.

"I will not insult Saarebas with the suggestion that making the right choice was difficult. I expect as much from every Qunari," the Arishok said, looking down his broad nose at her. "I doubt Saarebas earned a greater honor in his life than my reaction now."

She could hear Fenris shifting slightly. _My cue to take my leave, I guess. What would I do without him? If only… but after this morning… Ugh, no, I really can't think about it now. After this is Bartrand, then Ghyslain de Carrac, and then Maker knows what else... _

She blinked a few times in lieu of stammering as she recovered herself. "I see. Well, thank you for your time, Arishok."

The Arishok waved a bored, meaty hand. "Panahedan, human."

* * *

Hawke waited until they were well away from the Dwarven quarter before she rounded on Varric.

"Varric, I cannot _believe_ you didn't talk this over with Bartrand before now! I've been running around all of Kirkwall for over a month counting on this! What if he'd refused to partner with me? Where would I be then? Maker! I had no idea you'd never even mentioned me to him! You never even brought up the idea of bringing in a third partner? Not even once?"

She ranted on angrily in this fashion, venting off the shock and fear she'd experienced while Bartrand and Varric had argued over the sense in Varric's plan to have her join the expedition as a full partner.

Varric just smiled and shook his head, waving his hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down, Hawke. People are staring." Fenris looked around, and saw that nobody was actually staring. "Everything went off without a hitch, didn't it? I know my brother. He's took the gold, he's drooling over the maps, and we'll be off to the Deep Roads just as soon as you give the word. Your trust in me hasn't been misplaced. I just… work in mysterious ways. Sometimes in silence, sometimes by making a bit of noise. Like the Maker."

"Like a plate of beans, more like," she snorted.

Fenris stood by, watching the exchange passively. _She had not spoken to Varric's elder brother of this partnership until today? She is lucky that it all worked out, with so much riding on his decision. Varric does spin quite the tale, however, and she is rather… trusting._

_Although now that I think about it, when she asked me to sign on to the expedition with her she seemed so certain about it, and I trusted her. There was something about her, something about the way she spoke. But Hawke does have a certain charm, and the longer I am with her, the more often I see how others respond similarly to her words._

_Hmm, I guess I can understand how it would indeed have been disappointing if their plan had fallen through… not that I would have regretted my decision to stay,_ he decided.

"You, madam, seem to be overlooking the small fact that Bartrand _agreed_," Varric was saying. Fenris found himself nodding along with that.

Hawke had her arms crossed now, foot tapping madly against the cobblestones. "Lucky for you. Lucky for all of us. Still, I feel I should… should… _pinch_ you or something, for putting me through all that stress back there."

"Once you're sleeping on a bed of gold, you'll thank me. You will look back on this conversation and think, 'I should never have been so cross with Varric. I owe him a drink the next time I see him.'" With his raspy, dwarven voice he imitated her feminine one poorly, but he fairly nailed her Ferelden accent.

Fenris couldn't help but chuckle, and he and Varric exchanged a glance of camaraderie. Hawke just stared flatly at both of them, fingers of her right hand drumming on her arm.

"I'm telling you, Hawke, that thief did you a favor. The day he stole your coin-purse was the day your whole life changed. You'll see," Varric said. Then the dwarf squinted up at Fenris in thought. "That reminds me, elf. That… uh… thing you do with your hand…" He made an vague gesture at Fenris's open-gloved hand, staring directly at the straight lines of lyrium that showed, running from Fenris's wrists to each of his fingertips.

Fenris's small smile dropped away, and he closed his hand into a clawed fist. "I can already tell this isn't going anywhere pleasant," he said with resignation, wishing he'd kept his laugh to himself. _Should have just stayed quiet. Hawke looks like she wants to stick a knife in me, and the dwarf just always has to pry… _

"I've been thinking about it. I bet that makes pickpocketing easier," Varric observed appreciatively.

One of Fenris's eyebrows shot up in surprise, having expected a more typical question or comment. Then he pursed his lips, thinking about the possibilities. _I've stolen many times, but usually I just break into a shop or someone's home. Cutpursing when you look like me is next to impossible, with everyone always watching. Still, if I didn't actually have to **cut** the purse-strings… _"I'll try it some time and find out," he said finally, amused at the notion.

"I wouldn't say that too loud if I were you," Hawke said, pointing behind him. "Here comes Aveline. I sent her a note last night, and she's going to help look into this missing woman notice."

Fenris glanced over his shoulder as Aveline clanked up, sword and shield swaying at her back. He inclined his head to her, and Aveline gave him a small smile as she returned the gesture.

"Fenris. Good to see you." Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Hawke.

_Yes, I am still keeping my promise to you, Aveline. I remain at her side… though I hardly know how we've managed it. _

_But I suppose it may have worked so far if Hawke and I have both been after something… other than just a mutually beneficial alliance. Given enough time, I wonder how beneficial it could be? _The thought gave him pause._ Hmm, I guess this means I plan on sticking around after the Deep Roads after all. If I'm going to wait out Danarius, it may as well be here as anywhere._

Aveline was greeting Varric and Hawke, and Fenris hid his small smile before any of them could notice. He tucked his hopes away for closer inspection some other time. Hawke led their little band down into the market, then up onto a terrace overlooking the square, where nobles often congregated.

"What do you mean you can't help me?" an older man asked in a thick Orlesian accent. He was speaking to a pair of guardsman, and Aveline sped up to Hawke as their group drew close.

"This is a domestic matter, serah," one of the guards said. "If your wife has chosen to leave you, there's nothing we can do."

"Ninette is my wife! She's legally bound to me. Bring her back!" The noblemen struck a fist into his hand, outraged and frustrated.

_This must be Ghyslain de Carrac, _Fenris mused._ He looks about as his name sounds… overly ornate and irritating._

The guardsmen glanced at Aveline, then nodded to Ghyslain. "We're done here." They left, returning to their rounds.

"Useless! Why are we still paying those sluggards?" The Orlesian threw his hands up into the air.

"You should pay someone else. Like me. I like being paid," Hawke said brightly. Ghyslain turned to her, looking her over.

_I thought she wasn't looking forward to this task,_ Fenris thought, momentarily puzzled. _I guess the man does appear to be rather wealthy, though. If Aveline wasn't here, I'd try Varric's idea out on him. His purse would probably be worth the risk._

"If you can find Ninette, I will gladly pay you," de Carrac said, a little confused. Hawke gave him a reassuring smile as he pulled thoughtfully at his pointy, red beard. He finally dropped his hands to his sides, curling them into impotent fists. "That foolish woman has caused me nothing but embarrassment. She needs to be dragged home."

Aveline pointed a finger at the nobleman. "The guards disagree."

"They are more disagreeable than my wife!" he exclaimed as his hands flew into the air again. "Maybe your friend is more sensible." He turned back to Hawke, pointedly ignoring Aveline in the way only a noble can manage. "Her family is getting suspicious. They think I might have… done something to her. Even if — Well, I just want to make sure they know I didn't do it!"

_I am having the hardest time understanding this man with that… ridiculous accent of his_, Fenris thought impatiently. _I wish I had never grabbed that stupid notice._

"Even if what? Why would her family think you did something to her?" Hawke asked, narrowing her eyes at the man. Aveline crossed her arms too, and suddenly Fenris felt a little sorry for Ghyslain, pinned between two of the sharpest women he could think of.

"They think I married her for her inheritance. And they know we have been fighting. They believe this is reason enough to hurt her." Hawke's hand went to her hip, and Aveline loomed. Ghyslain gave Aveline's guard uniform a nervous glance, then looked back to Hawke. "But I swear on Andraste's pyre," he added fervently, "I have done nothing!"

"How long has your wife been gone?" Hawke asked impatiently.

"About a month. I wasn't worried at first. She's run off before." Ghyslain's bushy eyebrows drew together. "Ninette is uncontrollable, you see. She comes and goes as she pleases."

"Do you think Ninette might be in trouble?" Hawke prodded.

The nobleman shook a fist. "It's her own doing, gallivanting about with men half her age." Their entire group stirred uncomfortably, but he brushed it off. "Bah. She's just trying to show me I'm tied to her purse-strings."

Hawke gave him an incredulous look then. "You're more concerned with what your family thinks than what happened to her?"

"Ninette keeps the company of other men and makes no secret of it. I'd be better off with her gone," Ghyslain ranted. Then he sighed, rubbing at his brow. "Well, as long as her family knows I had nothing to do with it. They would ruin me otherwise."

Hawke exclaimed, "You don't care that Ninette might be hurt or dead? I can't imagine why she'd leave you." She gave a sarcastic huff.

"You have never lived with her!" Ghyslain bellowed. Fenris nearly took a step forward, but the Orlesian's anger had already fled. "It wasn't always like this. We were in love once. She defied her parents to marry me." He looked into the distance, adding wistfully, "Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed those years…" Hawke looked troubled at the change in his tone, and she glanced back at her companions.

_If her mother ran off with an escaped mage, of all people, she doubtless sympathizes with this man a bit. _As Hawke's gaze swept over him, Fenris wondered briefly if her eyes didn't linger a bit longer on him.

Something else occurred to him then. _She probably also has few qualms about… less traditional relationships — maybe few enough that I really do stand a chance. _But even as he dared to hope, a part of him recoiled, shying away from the thought of allowing someone so close. _If I can ever get past this darkness that lingers inside me… _

_Perhaps once Danarius is dead, I will be truly free. Maybe then...  
_

Hawke turned away, regarding the nobleman again. "I'll try my best to find Ninette and bring her home," she said.

The nobleman was startled out of his reverie, then inclined his head. "You should talk to Jethann at the Blooming Rose. I didn't know she visited… _whores_. Until Jethann sent a letter. To our house!" Everyone fidgeted again, terribly uncomfortable. "He even sent flowers once. Lilies… her favorite."

Ghyslain waved a hand then as if to clear away a stink. "Bah. Talking about her makes my head hurt. Good luck to you, serah." He deflated visibly as he nodded to Hawke. She retreated, leaving the man muttering to himself, "Bah. Women are more trouble than they're worth!"

_That at least I did understand, _Fenris thought sardonically as he followed Hawke to The Blooming Rose. He let himself watch her, mesmerized with the way she walked. _But maybe it would be worth a little more careful consideration all the same._

* * *

"This place reminds me way too much of the Merchants Guild," Varric grumbled as they entered the brothel.

"Why, does Isabela spend inordinate amounts of her time there as well?" Aveline asked dryly. Hawke laughed, but tried admirably to pretend it was a cough.

"I don't understand whores," Fenris said distastefully. "Why anyone would willingly sell themselves is beyond me. And how can anyone find a whore... stimulating? I could never bring myself to _purchase_ someone, not even for an hour or a night." His expression was one of pure revulsion.

Aveline gave him an approving look. "That's very admirable, Fenris. If only more of my guardsman were like you, it would save me a great deal of trouble. Seems once a week I've got either a whore or an angry wife showing up at the barracks, looking to track one of them down due to something that happened in the bawdy house. You'd probably be amazed at how much of the payroll ends up here."

"No," Fenris said with a sigh. "I don't think I would."

Hawke glanced back at him. Out of the corner of his eye she seemed to look concerned, but when he actually caught her gaze she just smiled mysteriously at him.

He couldn't help but ask. "What?"

"Nothing." She gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Clearly it was something, Hawke," he said, frustration at wanting to address this newly realized potential spilling over into his tone.

"As you wish," she said hesitantly, without looking back again. "I was just thinking that some people hardly need pay for what they could get easily get for free."

Stunned, Fenris could not speak. _Surely she cannot mean me. But no one ever propositions me… except for street-corner whores, half of Antiva, and Isabela — but none of them are exactly choosy._ He absolutely refused to remember that both Danarius and Hadriana had commented on his appearance, albeit in unwanted, leering ways. _I don't want to mix thoughts of Hawke with those hateful magisters._

_Now that I think on it, _he thought instead, _I don't even know that I've been seriously attracted to anyone before. There's always the occasional pleasing person on the street of course, but nothing serious, nothing that isn't just fleeting. _Remembering then the long, frustrating night a few days ago that he'd spent alone in his bed and lost in his own fantasies of Hawke, he completely forgot to respond to her comment.

Luckily, Varric cackled and chimed in before the silence became too awkward. "Take me for instance, elf. With this chest hair, I have to beat the dwarven girls off with a club. Lots of human ladies, too. Saves a lot of money, but still costs me in trouble. I keep a cudgel by my bed just for that reason. And why do you think it is that I have so many locks on my suite door?"

Skeptical eyebrows went up all around, but Varric continued on, stroking at his own broad, exposed chest. "Yes, serah, a fine chest of hair can take you anywhere. Or a beard for that matter." Varric glanced up at Fenris curiously. "So, where's your beard, elf?"

Fenris rolled his eyes, but was glad not to have to address Hawke's declaration. "Elves don't grow beards," he responded flatly.

"Huh." Varric mimed a motion at his own face, as if wielding an invisible razor. "I thought maybe you'd shaved it off in a fit of broody pique."

"So, you're a funny dwarf," Fenris drawled. Hawke gave a small laugh, and he was almost tempted to tease her about the name of the sword she'd chosen for him. But he decided against it, not wanting to flirt with her in a whorehouse, of all places.

"The ladies love a man that can make them laugh, elf," Varric said sagely. "Make a girl laugh, and she's like pudding in your lap. You remember that."

Fenris was discouraged momentarily, before remembering how Hawke had just laughed, and how she always seemed to understand and enjoy his own brand of dry wit.

"Isn't the expression 'like putty in your hands,' Varric?" Aveline asked.

"If you're interested in finding out…" Varric said, before cutting off abruptly. "Shit, Aveline. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. Please don't hit me with your shield."

She tutted, and Hawke laughed again before moving away to ask Viveka, the brothel madam's helper for directions to Jethann's suite.

"So, what _do_ you do, Aveline?' Varric asked casually, looking up at the guardswoman as they all waited conspicuously in the middle of the bustling bordello.

Aveline frowned down at the dwarf. "You know I'm a guard, why are you asking?"

"I mean in your off-duty hours," Varric clarified. "For fun. You've heard of it, I hope?"

Aveline shrugged, glancing around uncomfortably. "These _are_ my off-duty hours." Her expression hardened as a nearby couple began to disrobe rather publicly. They all immediately recognized Isabela, if not the other woman.

"And the trend of you scaring the piss out of me continues," Varric muttered, shaking his head as Aveline stalked over to remind Isabela and her lady-friend of several ordinances involving personal conduct in a publicly occupied tavern area as well as a number of brothel hygiene laws.

* * *

"Today's my rest day, but I'll make an exception for _you_," Jethann said to Hawke, once they were in his room. The slight elf ran his turquoise eyes up and down her figure appreciatively, and Fenris felt a twinge of jealousy. "What can I say? Why work if you're not working _hard_?" The male whore licked his lips, then gave Hawke a sultry pout.

Everyone except Hawke shifted uncomfortably at the sudden sexual tension permeating the room.

_Reminds me of someone we just left out in the common area,_ Fenris thought dryly._ Yes, if this elf was wearing several pounds of gold jewelry and a blue cloth on his head, it'd be like any night at The Hanged Man. Except it'd be Hawke's armor Isabela was trying to stare through, instead of mine. _

"I can see why Ninette liked you," Hawke said with a chuckle. "You're _feisty_." She wrinkled her nose at Jethann in amusement.

Fenris felt his face go blank as he tried not to seethe. _Well, if I had any doubts that she was not attracted to elves, I suppose that nullifies them_. _Though I doubt she needs pay for sex either — if she put her mind to it, I'd wager she could have any man she wanted. Her silvered tongue is…_ He firmly clamped down on any thoughts of her tongue, silver or otherwise, and his mood turned sullen as he realized none of his thoughts had been as comforting as they originally seemed.

Jethann meanwhile was chuckling. "A refreshing change from the pale slug I married." He winked at Hawke, and Fenris's humor soured further. "I hear Ninette finally left her worthless husband. Good for her," the whore said approvingly. "I just wish she'd said goodbye."

"Did she tell you she left her husband?" Hawke asked.

"No, I just hope that's what she did," he said with a shrug. "Ghyslain only wants her for her family's wealth. Ninette's a _jewel_. Elegant, worldly, just the perfect level of depraved. Ghyslain doesn't deserve her." He sighed.

Hawke pursed her lips, tilting her head from side to side, somewhat in agreement with that last statement. "Ghyslain knew about you and Ninette," she said then. "Did he talk to you?"

Jethann crossed his arms huffily. "The man is incapable of talking. He came here, yelled at me, called me a dirty knife-ear," he said airily, Hawke and Fenris both stiffening, "among other things — and he accused me of corrupting his wife!" The whore gave a devious smile. "We had him thrown out."

Hawke cleared her throat. "I… see. He should not have said such bigoted things. Elves are quite nice. Some of my closest friends are elves." Fenris felt slightly mollified by her indirect apology, but Jethann only shrugged, apparently immune to slurs. "Do you think Ninette has come to harm?" she continued.

The slight elf pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, looking horrified and shocked. "I hope not! Everyone loves Ninette!" Then his vibrant eyes crinkled at the corners, and his voice dropped an octave. "Sometimes twice a night." He smirked, again winking at Hawke.

A stream of Tevinter curse words filled Fenris's mouth, but he bit down on his tongue to avoid making a scene.

"Ghyslain's the only one that might hurt her," Jethann continued, focused on Hawke. "And he doesn't have the balls for it."

She gave the elf a mischievous smile. "Were you hoping Ninette would leave Ghyslain for you?"

"Of course not! I know my place. I offer a service, that's all," he said, inspecting his immaculate fingernails. "Anyway, there was someone else looking for Ninette. A templar. I believe his name was Emeric. _He_ wouldn't sleep with me, either." He shot Hawke a piteous look of regret, and the corner of Fenris's mouth finally tickled up into a smile.

_I cannot see her face fully, but she must be sending some signal of rejection to this… piddly elf whore._

"I can't see why a templar would be interested in anyone who isn't a mage," Jethann continued.

"Any chance Ninette's an apostate?" Hawke sounded wary.

Fenris muttered, "Any chance she isn't?" thinking of the many apostates and blood mages they'd already encountered. _At least one of each in Hawke's own acquaintanceship…_ Nobody seemed to hear him except Hawke, who fidgeted slightly.

"Well, she _certainly_ cast a spell on me," Jethann drawled, then giving up the coy act when he saw Hawke still wasn't buying. "Anyway, if Ninette was a mage, I think Emeric would have said so."

"Someone else Ninette spent special 'alone time' with, perhaps?" Hawke sounded suddenly excited and conspiratorial.

_I never knew she was such a gossip, _Fenris thought, amused. _I should take her on one of my evening walks through Hightown. She'd probably enjoy eavesdropping on some of the stolen, back-alley conversations I overhear. And no doubt she'd love to see some of the trysts I stumble across… Nobles may act superior, but they rut out in the open with surprising frequency — far more often than the commonfolk, at any rate._

"She always liked men in uniform. You could ask him yourself," Jethann mused. "Emeric said he'd continue his investigation in Darktown. You could see if he's still there."

Hawke murmured her thanks and turned to go, but Jethann reached towards her. "And if you find Ninette, tell her to drop by and _see_ me sometime." He thrust his hips slightly, and Fenris felt a odd mix of disgust and fascination for the elf's utter indecency. "You're welcome to drop by too, if you're ever interested in my many, many _services_."

_I hope she doesn't desire a man that acts that brazen. I don't think I could put on such a ridiculous show, not even for her._

"Thanks for the information, but I doubt you'll be hearing from me again," Hawke demurred, "Well, unless I find something out about Ninette."

"Your loss and mine, but you're welcome all the same. Buh-bye for now," Jethann said with a resigned waggle of his fingers.

* * *

Once back out on the landing, Hawke turned to face them all. "Well, that was… something." Everyone made small grumbles of discomfort and agreement, but she seemed to be focused on Fenris in particular.

"I trust we _all_ will be leaving soon?" he asked impatiently.

She chuckled. "Yes, let's get out of here. There's nothing more I want here. Besides, it sounds like we've got some rooting around to do in Darktown." She rubbed at the back of her neck. "I usually hate going into the Undercity, but now I'm curious. I want to get to the bottom of this."

Hawke led them outside and squinted up at the sky. She looked thoughtful, then quietly counted off on her fingers. "The day is getting away from us — It's past lunchtime, if I heard the last toll of the Chantry bells right while we were inside. Time for a sandwich," she declared, patting at her stomach. "Nobody wants to eat down in Darktown, and we need a break anyway."

"In that case," Aveline said, "I'll go back to the barracks. I need to check in, and I can grab something from the guards' mess." She moved away from the group, pausing to look over her shoulder. "I'll meet you by the Chantry in, say, an hour's time?" Hawke nodded, and the guardswoman clanked off briskly.

"I'll head back to the Dwarven Merchants Guild, get some roast nug-on-a-stick. I haven't had any in a while, it'll be just the thing." Varric turned to face them. "You two are welcome to come. You just might have to stand up to eat — the tables and chairs are a bit small. Or I can bring you back a nug-stick each?"

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a glance, then both shook their heads vigorously at the dwarf. "No?" he said, surprised. "All right, suit yourselves. See you in an hour…" He bustled off, humming his favorite tune, the one he'd written about Bianca.

Alone now, Fenris and Hawke stood in awkward silence.

"Going down to Lowtown and coming back up would take up the better part of the hour. I guess that means lunch at home or The Hanged Man is out for me," she finally said.

Fenris flexed his hands, then fidgeted a little pretending to examine the soles of his feet. The wind kicked up and he thought he heard something behind them, so he looked over his shoulder casting a few suspicious glares around the small square.

Hawke dug the toe of her boot into a crevice between the cobblestones, worrying at a tuft of weeds that was growing there. After a moment, she looked up and saw his scowling. She sighed. "Well, I shan't keep you. Go back to your mansion. We'll all be meeting up near there anyway." Without waiting for a response, she drifted away, angling her way out of the square. She paused when she reached the intersection, looking around as if unsure which direction to go.

Fenris watched her, torn as to whether he should stop her or let her leave.

* * *

**A/N:** To lunch together or not to lunch together, that is the question!


	27. Missing Pieces, Part 2

**A/N: **I think it was a unanimous response in favor of the lunch! Thanks for helping nudge in that direction. Must have been fitting, too, because I easily came up with lots of good, gripping stuff. I hope you agree, since it turned into the longest chapter yet. :-o

The song Hawke is humming this time is the Dragon Age 2 Main Theme. And now, without further delay, part 2!

BioWare owns all.

* * *

Fenris watched Hawke hesitate at the intersection, sighing against the clenching of his heart.

_I keep tormenting myself when I am with her. When I am alone, it seems so easy to decide to let this go, to pretend it isn't real, that it could not and should not be. Yet even before I let myself acknowledge how she truly felt, I kept coming back. How much harder will it be after today? Is there anything I can do to undo this? Do I even __**want**__ to undo this?_

"Hawke…" he called tiredly. She turned, placing one hand on the wall and looking back over her shoulder at him. Her expression was guarded and pensive.

Fenris knew he ought to be glad she did not smile a relieved or joyous smile at him — that this face meant he had indeed warded her off. But it only made him feel worse.

_I suffered long years under Danarius. I was toyed with mercilessly by Hadriana. Doubtless before the ritual I was still a miserable slave, though I can no longer remember it. But there was never pain such as this. No, nothing like this._

He closed his eyes as a heavy sigh of resignation was pressed out of him by the weight of his anguish. "Wait…" he said, walking slowly over to where she stood. Her eyes went a little wide, but Hawke said nothing and merely watched him approach.

_My pleasant dreams of her dim to nothingness when morning comes, like a snuffed candle. When I awaken, the memory of each one is like a glowing ember fading quickly to darkness, and any momentary happiness I feel is gone so fast, like smoke slipping through my fingers. _

Fenris stopped beside her, then turned to face her. She hesitantly faced him too, hand sliding down the wall to hang limply by her side. She glanced up at him, then lowered her eyes to stare distantly at his chestplate.

_But the nightmares of her always burn, seared into my mind just like these… damned markings. I cannot forget the feel of her hot, sticky blood on my hands as I kill her, mistaking her for Hadriana in my uncontrollable rage. And doubtless I will never forget the sight of her falling to those demons, who thank me before they devour her. _

_In nightmares I have killed her, left her to die, disarmed her and given her over to Danarius to enslave… and I remember every moment of it with such clarity, right down to the mix of horror and piteous longing for my master to tell me I have done well._

When Fenris did not speak for several long moments, Hawke's face tilted further downwards as her solemn gaze went to the ground. His large, green eyes considered her, taking in the sight of her in a dejected, lonely mood. He distantly recalled how animated, vibrant and _alive_ she had been just moments ago, talking with Jethann, and Aveline and Varric. Seeing her suddenly so morose and unsure around him should have been satisfying, given his earlier intentions.

_So have I done well? It feels like I do the right thing, to keep my distance but stay, when I owe her a debt. _

_Yet it has quickly become more than that, and I no longer know what is right. I don't know what I am really doing, where I am really going, why I am really staying. _

_I am still closer to being a pet wolf than I am to being like the Fog Warriors with their openness and easy, affectionate ways. So where can this possibly go?_

"Come with me," he said wearily. She glanced up at him, surprise sparking a flicker of life back into her eyes.

"I… I don't want to be a bother. Are you sure?" Her voice was quiet, but full of emotions. He could hear them all — hesitation, hope, despair, concern, honesty, tenderness. She was like an open book for him to read… but he could not read.

"Yes…" _No…_

The corner of her mouth curved up into a tiny, disbelieving smile, and the leap in his pained heart at seeing it was so strong that he rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it all.

_And yet I get up and dress, and I go to her, or she comes to me. Then I cannot let it go, cannot let her go, no matter how much it hurts. She smiles and I forget myself, for a time. We drink wine and talk of everything, except what really matters. She gives me gifts and I say... nothing, as I remember taking her very existence from her in some nightmare. She touches me and I pull away, even as I want to lean into her. But do I want her to burn the agony away, or do I want it to burn her away?  
_

_Sometimes I can extend my hand to help her rise, or grab her to steady her on her feet… but then I see these claws on her, and remember what I am._

He realized then that he had been reaching out to take her hand as they'd stood there. Hawke hadn't noticed, for her face was still tilted up to him. Her smile was bigger now, her gaze flicking around in bemused embarrassment as she waited quietly for him to lead the way.

As his thoughts raced, she began to bite at her lower lip and he was forced to turn away to keep from staring, between his recent fantasies of watching her eat strawberries, and a desire to feel her teasing that way at his ear.

Fenris began stalking in the direction of his mansion. He could hear that she followed. She soon caught up to walk by his side.

_And yet I keep returning. And so does she._

_She knows what I am, doesn't she? She knows how I feel about magic and mages, and how I've disapproved of most of her decisions regarding them. _

_She sees me marked as I am, and an elf besides. _

_I told her how I have been running, hiding and fighting, alone, for three years now. She's seen how I am hunted. She's learned that I can't bear to be touched, that I am terrible at flattery, that I know nothing of being normal. _

_She knows I live in a stolen mansion with hardly a possession that I didn't steal, or that she herself didn't give me._

They walked in silence to his mansion, past the Viscount's Keep and continuing on toward the Chantry square. As they entered it, Fenris glanced to the secluded corner where he had hidden while Hawke had shed tears on the chantry steps.

Recalling the sound of her weeping, he looked at the woman herself walking beside him, taking in her proud, beautiful profile. He silently wondered what manner of strength resided in her, what her life had been, and where it yet would take her.

_I envy her, even as I admire her, don't understand her, and am utterly bewildered around her. Surely she must see it, for I doubt I hide it well._

He angled across the square, leading her to the short flight of steps that went up towards his mansion.

_And yet she keeps returning. And so do I._

_Even when I know she will brush against wounds. That her words will invariably rub me the wrong way. Even knowing that she will bring unpleasant memories to the surface, things best left buried and forgotten, I keep coming back for more like a whipped dog. _

Fenris turned the doorknob and shouldered the door open, used now to the way the wooden door swelled and stuck during the humid weather. He gestured for Hawke to enter before him, unable to return her smile when she brushed past and nodded at him in polite thanks.

_Perhaps I never was free. Perhaps I am just seeking a new master to replace Danarius. Maybe I fled with my chains, and I am just searching for someone to pick them up and bind me again._

_Maybe I will never be free — maybe I'll always be broken, always looking for someone else to put me back together, then prop me up and tell me what I am to do with myself. The Fog Warriors tried, but… _

_Maybe that's why I look to her._

Hawke waited for him just inside the doorway of the great hall. Fenris stomped past without looking at her, leading her across the room and up to his chamber. Once there, they both set their weapons next to the door.

Fenris threw himself into his usual armchair to brood, not even offering her a seat. He slumped listlessly, propping his face up indifferently on his still-gloved hand, not caring that his sharply clawed thumb pressed into chin, not tasting the tang of metal on his lips.

Hawke stood next to the only other chair at the table, watching him with quiet concern. After a moment, sensing that he was lost in thought, she sank into the chair across from him, folding her hands in her lap before looking politely away.

_No. _

_It can't be that I've come all this way, spent all these years for nothing. I ran from Danarius, after… after what I did. I knew I couldn't go back. Even if I've let myself become complacent and lazy since, that was just the weariness of being pursued. I didn't want to go back then, and I don't want to go back now, either. Not to Tevinter. Not to Danarius. Not to being a slave, for him or anyone else._

_I want freedom. I want to be free. I just don't know… __**how**__. I've never stayed put long enough to ask. I've barely been in Kirkwall, what… two months? Barely one month in the city proper? The hunters could return at any moment, or Danarius could come back. He can track me anywhere… can't he?_

_And yet it feels like I am just now beginning to struggle. Together, Hawke and I killed all the hunters here… save the one inside of me that dogs my very heart. _

_How am I supposed to be free when I am pursued always, in my mind if not across all of Thedas?_

_I hired Hawke to help me, and even that turned out backwards. She wound up hiring me to help her instead. And yet I don't know how to help anyone, not even myself._

"The food is all still in the grocer's basket, over there on the bookshelf. Help yourself," he grumbled distractedly. Hawke started, then murmured her thanks as she stood to rummage through his half-empty, makeshift larder.

She began setting items out onto the table, alternately humming and muttering softly to herself as she did so. She disappeared from view for a few long moments as she searched the lower 'book' shelves that he'd repurposed for holding dining implements.

_Even from the first, it was like this with her. I needed her before I even knew who she was. I remember seeing her in the Alienage, surprised to find a woman at the head of such a small band to have taken down so many hunters. And then I really looked at her, really __**saw**__ her, and it was like… like nothing I have ever experienced before. _

_No doubt she felt the same way about me, but for more obvious reasons. I am hardly ordinary. _

He heard her walking past, towards the other side of the room, so he turned to follow her with his eyes. She'd tucked an empty water pitcher under one arm, and she held his full washbasin. She was regarding it with one raised eyebrow.

"The room next door has a pump, and beneath it, a drain," he explained blandly, refusing to acknowledge his admittedly slovenly habits. He comforted himself with the thought that he _would_ have emptied the basin, if he'd not been on his way to see her — that he had been rushing there to dress her down and now had invited her to a private lunch was not a cause for embarrassment, either.

Hawke carried the bowl carefully to the door, trying not to slosh the grayish, scummy water. She hesitated out on the landing, looking between the two rooms to either side of Fenris's main chamber.

"Left," he called. She disappeared from view, heading towards the steward's room on the right. "Other left, Hawke…"

She crossed slowly back in front of the doorway, heading in the correct direction, holding the basin precariously. "Sorry, I was orientating myself towards your door in my head," she said sheepishly, concentrating on not spilling the water. "I do know my directions, I swear."

She disappeared again, and after a few moments he heard the splash of pouring water, then the squeak of the pump.

_Even speaking to her was so easy, at first. Everyone seems compelled to tell her their life story, so I suppose I shouldn't feel special in that regard. And she always helps people — the woman seems to be one large soft spot. Small wonder she took pity on me that night, and again when she came to visit._

_She's brought me so much. She gave me what I needed, and even more that I never thought I did. And yet what can I give her, when I have nothing?_

Hawke re-entered the room, basin, pitcher and hands dripping. She set the washbasin and pitcher back on the bench, then retrieved a small cake of soap from its home on the mantlepiece.

"That is an impressive bathtub you have, Fenris. I'm envious," she said amiably as she washed her hands. "I'd _kill_ for a tub big enough for two to soak in." She pulled out a red handkerchief and dried her hands, turning to him.

"You are welcome to use it anytime you wish, Hawke," he responded absentmindedly. Then he shifted in his seat, remembering the last, shortened bath he had taken. He'd stuck to quick, cold scrubs near the pump, ever since _that_ restless night.

_Is there any polite way to take back the offer? I might never be able to take a relaxing bath again, knowing she's bathed in there, all… _He refused to consciously think the words 'soapy' and 'naked.'

"I just might take you up on that before we head into the Deep Roads," she said agreeably. "A long, hot soak would do my body a _world_ of good."

Fenris tried to speak up, but all he could do was grunt, then swallow past the stiff lump in his throat. His mouth had gone ludicrously dry.

"If the expedition goes half as well as Varric thinks, a big bathing tub will likely be one of the first things I purchase when we get back," she continued, taking his sound as one of agreement. "And doubtless we'll _all_ need a good, thorough bath when we return."

_It is going to be a very long expedition, with her always there and no quiet mansion to retreat to_, he thought with a frown._ And no baths? I hadn't thought of that. Hmm…_

Hawke smiled as she tucked her red cloth away, gesturing for him to come wash his hands too. He sighed, but removed his right vambrace, then dispassionately began slipping off the jointed, metal finger-sheaths of his open-palmed glove.

She watched with open curiosity as he unhooked the clasps that held the glove above the wrist to the long strap of leather that ran down the outside length of his arm, from his pauldrons.

"I always wondered how that worked," she said with a shrug when he glanced up to set the glove aside and caught her looking. "Great gloves, by the way. Maybe some day I'll get a pair to make me look all… talon-y." Hawke hooked and wiggled all her fingers, and Fenris had to chuckle at how hawk-like she looked. "I've seen you tear your gloves off before," she continued, "but I found it mysterious how they stayed on otherwise, when you're fighting."

Fenris rubbed at his forearm, then elbow, where the leather straps from his pauldron were still bound. "I've gotten used to how they work, so I can unhook them without taking everything off," he explained.

"I can't imagine what it must be like to have a whole suit of armor custom-made, apurpose, just for you." Hawke regarded him speculatively. "I hope you don't mind my saying so," she finally said, rather cautiously, "but it is unlike anything I have ever seen."

"Much like the rest of me?" he asked, with surprising ease.

She nodded and blushed a little. "I'm sorry, I don't want to pry. I know you dislike talking about Tevinter and… you-know-who. I assume that's where — and who — your armor is from, so I've never brought it up before." His black eyebrows drew together. "But I do like it," she added quickly.

He considered her for a moment, wondering if he should tell her the truth or use this as an opportunity to set her down again.

"So do I," he finally said, nodding. "It suits me well enough." Then he turned his other hand palm up, gesturing with one outstretched, clawed finger for Hawke to draw nearer. She approached, and he showed her how the vambrace unlatched. After he removed it, Fenris handed it to her.

She clicked it shut, then brushed her fingertips over the large, black feathers that adorned the top, outside edge. "These feathers always tickle me whenever you brush past, you know," she said with an air of fond scolding.

"Yes, no doubt that was the purpose in putting them there," he replied wryly, giving her a crooked smile. "To... _tickle_ my foes, should they draw too close." She chuckled and set the vambrace on the table next to his other one.

Hawke watched him unhook the clasps of his other glove. This time, he slid the entire clawed ensemble off his hand. Then he held up his bare hand to her, showing her the front and back of it with spread fingers, as if he'd just done a trick.

"Interesting," she said appreciatively, her eyes tracing along his lyrium markings. Then she looked to his face. "Now wash. I'll not have you complaining that your food tastes like dirt, leather and metal."

He sighed again, but got to his feet and moved over to the basin. Hawke went back to the far side of the table and began fixing their meal.

_I remember that first night she came here,_ he thought, as he poured cool water over his hands. _So hesitant and nervous. Then, she nearly choked on every sip of water while we spoke, but now… Now she bosses me about, in my own rooms. _

Fenris glanced back at her, watching her slice bread, meat and cheese, arranging it all in two neat stacks on two plates. He idly marveled that she'd somehow managed to find knives, plates and even a jar of mustard he thought he'd lost, everything she needed, among all his clutter.

_When she crawled under the table to retrieve that cup… _he thought appreciatively, as he soaped his hands. _Maybe I should start hiding the bread knife under there._

He was still not used to the sight of her here, in his room, and certainly not used to seeing her bustling around to fix him a sandwich. Still, he found the experience oddly warm and comforting, despite the strangeness.

_Just like that first night, when we sat here for hours. It was so odd, but… good. Even the silence was nice. It was enjoyable, being alone with someone who seemed to listen and actually care._

"Do you like mustard?" she asked, looking over to him. She smiled shyly when she caught him watching, but he just inclined his head. She began to spread some onto a piece of bread. "I thought maybe since the jar was shoved way into the corner and has been barely used, that perhaps you don't care for it. Now I will remember that you do."

Fenris rinsed his hands. He almost sat back down in his chair then, hovering there and hesitating as he remembered something else from the first time she'd visited. "I'll be right back," he said, straightening to walk out of the room. He could hear Hawke's humming start up again as he left, her lilting tune echoing across the mansion.

He headed for one of the side doors in the great hall, pulling a big, iron key out from a pouch at his belt. He unlocked the door and went to the messy, dark, abandoned kitchen, then down a flight of stairs to the cellar. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, and it did not take long to locate what he was looking for.

Hawke was already seated by the time he returned, and there was a large sandwich for each of them waiting on the table. Her eyes lit up when she saw what he carried.

"Is that…?" she asked breathlessly, turning in her seat to follow him as he walked past.

"I believe you expressed some interest in it before. And since it's a special occasion with your expedition partnership official, I won't even throw this bottle against the wall." He gave her a smile and she positively beamed back at him as she quietly clapped her hands.

He drank in the sight of her, looking animated, excited and happy. _I wonder how she would react... not that I have much choice, I broke the only corkscrew I could find. _"Watch. I bet you will like this," he told her mysteriously, holding the bottle firmly by the neck in both hands. She cocked her head at him, curious.

He concentrated, channeling the jumbled tangle of feelings swirling around in his head into a tight knot. He saw Hawke's eyes go wide, appreciatively and not in fear, as his lyrium markings began to glow. Her positive response fed his emotions further, and the lyrium blazed to life.

Fenris focused then, making his right hand phase through the glass of the bottle. Glass was relatively easy for him, so it was with little difficulty that he pressed up on the bottom of the cork. His strong fingers pushed it halfway up out of the bottle before he unphased his hand and let the lyrium power fade away.

He clamped his teeth around the now-exposed cork and yanked it free. "Astia valla femundis," he slurred, still holding the cork in his teeth.

Hawke laughed delightedly, scrambling to raise an empty cup for him to pour into. He removed the cork from his mouth and set it on the table while pouring her a generous measure of wine.

"Asti... va... um. Actually, I'll go with 'Here's to you,'" she said, toasting him before they both drank the Agreggio — her out of her cup, and him straight from the bottle as was his wont.

He took a long, slow drink, watching and waiting for her reaction. She tilted the cup back further, further, then further still.

"Andraste's pert left buttock! It's better than I ever dreamed," she gasped after draining her whole cup.

Fenris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The blood, sweat and tears of slaves never tasted so sweet," he sighed, eying the now two-thirds full bottle.

She reached out as if to touch his arm, before folding her fingers under and letting her hand drop. She remained silent, looking at him distantly with her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Stop fretting, Hawke," he said placatingly. "I promised not to break this one."

"Sorry. It's not that," she said, shaking her head and setting her cup aside. "I mean, well, it _is_ sweet and _don't_ break it… but of course it must have had slave labor go into making it. I guess everything from the Imperium does." She looked down at her hands, which now lay limply in her lap. "I never thought about it before."

Fenris nudged the bottle into her hands and sat down in his chair. "Bah. Do not mind me. Leaving it in the cellar to spoil, or using it to 'redecorate the walls' won't make things any better."

She gave a quiet chuckle at him repeating her jest, though she still looked troubled.

He decided to let her be, and took one bite of his sandwich, then another. After making an appreciative grunt at how surprisingly good it actually was, he chewed hungrily. He glanced over at Hawke when she still didn't respond.

She was worrying her lower lip as she considered the bottle. Fenris swallowed, then said while chewing his second bite of sandwich, "Something on your mind, Hawke?"

She glanced at him shyly, then gave a small smile. "I was just wondering if it tastes better from the bottle. You've drunk straight from it both times I've seen you have Agreggio, though you always use cups for the wine you brought to the tavern."

He took another large bite of sandwich, then nodded his head sagely. "Doesn't need decanting. Better without, despite what magisters say," he mumbled tersely around a mouthful of cheese, ham and bread.

She snickered, looking away to the side as she made a swiping motion above her mouth with a finger. "You've got a mustard mustache, Fenris."

He scrubbed stiffly at his face with the back of his hand, then licked away the mustard. "Sorry," he said, swallowing his food. He put the sandwich down, trying to be polite. She hadn't even started in on hers yet.

Hawke blushed, looking from him to the bottle and back again. "Do you mind? If I try it, I mean? Would that bother you, me drinking after you?"

Fenris blinked, not understanding. "We share bottles of wine all the time, Hawke. Why should it bother me now?"

Her blush deepened. "It's just… some people are touchy about sharing after others. Others' lips touching where theirs have, that sort of thing. It's usually reserved for family, close friends, or other… intimate relationships." She tried to meet his eyes, but only succeeded in blinking furiously and staring at a point just past his left spiky, black pauldron.

Fenris stirred, remembering when she'd shared her waterskin with him along the Wounded Coast._ Ah. That makes a lot more sense now, too. As does that overly friendly man in Antiva, offering to share a bottle of ale with me if I came back to his house with him… I thought he just wanted to rob me._

Realizing the silence had begun to stretch, he made a hasty shooing motion with one hand as he picked up the rest of his sandwich in the other. "If anyone should mind, I'd think it would be you, Hawke. As a slave and fugitive, I've had to drink out of all sorts of filthy vessels." He tried to make his small shrug nonchalant. "I don't care. Do as you wish."

He set back upon his sandwich, precluding the possibility of further conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried not to watch what she would do.

Hawke hesitated, furrowing her brow a bit at his words and looking slightly confused. Then she shrugged, and lifted the bottle to her lips. He paused in chewing, watching her openly when her eyes slipped closed and her throat worked to drink down the wine.

She took several long swallows, her cheekbones highlighted by a combination of her flush, and the pressure of the wine bottle drawing her cheeks in. Her reddened lips were wrapped around the bottle opening, and suddenly Fenris could quite clearly make the connection between sharing a bottle and intimacy.

A dewy bead of red wine swelled at the corner of her mouth, then trickled down her chin to her collarbone. She finally tilted her head forward at that, laughing and wiping away at it with her free hand. The bottle came away from her mouth with a loud pop, and she licked her lips with a satisfying, "Mmmm."

Fenris began to chew again, even though his mouth felt unreasonably dry. He thought briefly about gesturing for the wine so he could wet it, but nearly choked on his food as he imagined instead licking it from her neck, or tasting it on her lips directly.

"You're right. It's… ever so slightly tingly, straight from the bottle." She wrinkled her nose in delight. "It doesn't do that in a cup. And the flavors are so much brighter without being dulled by the air." She studied the label appreciatively, pursing her lips at it, though he knew she doubtless couldn't read Arcanum either.

Fenris nodded at her comments mutely, trying his best not to chew his own tongue off. He tried not to stare at her wine-reddened, puckered lips, either. _I hope there are no strawberries left for dessert. I fear I will get precious little sleep tonight as it is._

"I'm glad you know your wines," Hawke said thoughtfully, eyes flicking to him. "You've been very generous to share with me, Fenris. I don't know how to repay you." She set the bottle between them, then began to eat her sandwich.

He had seen her eat many times, but they'd never been alone while they ate before. Invariably Varric or Bethany was around, and often one or more of the others too. He was by now used to the way she ate, all businesslike and very methodical. Still, it amused him, and he watched her cut her sandwich into four pieces knowing she would eat each one in turn, starting at the top and going around in the direction of the shadow on a sundial.

He looked down at his own ruined sandwich, which appeared to have been mauled by a bear. He bit into it again, trying to be a little neater this time. They both ate quietly for a time, focusing on their plates.

"Do you think you'll be ready to head out on the expedition the day after next?" she asked, pausing before starting on her second quadrant of sandwich.

He nodded, still chewing, and wiped at his face just on the off-chance of more misplaced mustard. Hawke nodded too, then resumed eating. She was concentrating on her food, so Fenris took her moment of distraction to grab the bottle of wine and take a drink.

_It is just my imagination that it seems sweeter. That or the motion of tilting it has stirred it a little, making it taste better. That is all. _He pressed his fingers to his lips as he set the bottle back down, half wiping away wine, half curious about the feeling of true kissing.

"I suppose I should speak to the merchants in Lowtown and halt your deliveries, then," she said, before finishing off the second piece of her sandwich.

"Yes," he agreed hastily, jolted back to reality. "I should have just enough food to last one more day."

She raised an eyebrow as she bit off half of her third piece of sandwich, eying him skeptically. He pushed the last of his sandwich into his mouth, then began picking up breadcrumbs and bits of cheese with his finger, also putting them into his mouth.

"You have enough food there for _three_ days," she said incredulously when she finally swallowed her food. She picked up the bottle of Agreggio and took a long sip of wine, offering it directly to him when she was done.

He took it from her, pausing to give her a serious look before he drank. She began to grin, already knowing he was planning on teasing her. "Look at me, Hawke. I'm a rather large elf. And I have a warrior's appetite — in all things." He kept his face neutral as he took a hearty swig, then handed the bottle back to her. Their fingers brushed when she took it, and he felt a thrill that he decided to attribute to the alcohol finally hitting his system.

She shifted when they touched, leaning in to receive the Agreggio and giving him a warm, knowing smile. Her eyes looked a little brighter, which he also attributed to the wine. "Well, when we get back from the Deep Roads, you can tell me all about your… appetites, and I'll make the necessary arrangements."

She took a lingering, teasing drink as she held his eyes, and Fenris felt rather like she'd pinned him to his chair with well-placed throws of her daggers.

Hawke lowered the bottle, thumping it down on the table. "After all," she said in a low voice, undoubtedly deepened by the wine, "we can't have you sitting here all alone, left wanting, can we?" She lifted an eyebrow at him as she offered up her plate with the last part of her sandwich.

Fenris finally managed to look away, considering her with a sideways glance, a little uneasy at her sudden flirtatious manner. She waggled the plate and held it out further, almost under his nose, making a tantalizing 'hmmm?' noise as she smiled at him.

Hesitantly he accepted the quarter of sandwich, though he ate it quickly while pretending to find the far wall very interesting.

She slid the bottle over when he brushed his hands off. "Just about three deep, long swallows left," she said slowly. He took a quick gulp of wine to mollify her, then let her slide the wine bottle away.

Hawke turned the bottle on the tabletop with her fingertips, smiling at him as she leaned back languidly in her chair. She crossed her legs, which he'd never really seen her do before.

_We polished the bottle off rather fast, and she got most of it_, he thought with a small measure of alarm._ She did not eat nearly enough to balance it out either._ He scratched at his head to hide his look of dismay. _I may inadvertently have gotten her a bit drunk._

"Two more big sips, Fenris. One for me, one for you. Or shall I do for both of us?" she asked, licking her lips and rubbing her crossed legs together slightly. His keen ears could definitely detect the slightest hint of drink in the way she over-enunciated her words.

He shifted in his chair._ Well, I did tell her it was a special occasion. What's the use in celebrating if you can't get a little drunk at lunch? Still, I should be careful. For both of us._

"In Tevinter," he explained slowly, picking up the cork, "there is a custom of saving the last measure of a shared bottle of wine as a sort of… tribute to sharing the next." He firmly bunged the cork into the bottle's neck, pushing it all the way back in with strong fingers.

Hawke pouted as he slid the stoppered wine bottle away. "We'll save this last bit," he explained. "It will be an advance on sharing another. Perhaps when we return from the Deep Roads, and you have your bath."

Her eyes lit up at this. "We could have it in the bath?" she asked excitedly. Then her eyes narrowed and she smirked, scandalized. "_Fenris!_"

_Ah. She thinks I mean for us to share it in the bath…_ Fenris stood hastily and went to place the nearly empty bottle on the mantlepiece. Hawke was still smiling slyly when he turned around.

"All right, Hawke. Time to go to the Chantry square," he said, eying her warily as he went to retrieve his sword from beside the door. He gave her a wide berth, not trusting her judgment just now.

_The Agreggio seems to have made her bold enough to try something. The magisters seemed to enjoy it for just that reason... as if they had any inhibitions left. But if she tries something, I just... do not know how I would react, still. _

_Maybe if I drank enough of it… _he mused, then shook his head to himself. _No, we cannot and should not find out today._

Hawke stood, wavering a bit, then brushed crumbs off of herself. "Is it time to go already?" she grumbled. "Pity, it was so nice spending some quiet time with you."

She noisily gathered up his gloves and vambraces, then walked over and handed them to him with a shy smile. "Thank you for lunch, and for letting me try the Agreggio Pavali. I've been wanting you, ever since that first night."

He blinked down at her, accepting the armor numbly as he deciphered her last sentence. _I suppose she meant to say she'd been wanting 'to,' not 'you.' _He began pulling on his gloves, knowing it would be easier to resist doing something rash with them on. _Even if she does mean it, what she said was still a slip of the tongue. _His mind shot off in all sorts of bad directions at that, and he stalked down into the great hall to put some distance between Hawke and himself.

She gathered up her own weapons and gloves, then begrudgingly followed, dragging her feet as she slowly came down the steps.

"I want a nap," she said forlornly. "How about we lie —" The Chantry bells started tolling just then, and Fenris was tempted to offer up a rare prayer of thanks to the Maker for his divine intervention. He dismissed both his notion and hers as ridiculous, then walked to the front door and yanked it open.

"You'll feel better once out in the fresh air, Hawke," he called, weary himself. "It's just your lunch settling. We'll walk around until Varric and Aveline arrive."

She trudged out the door to slump sullenly against the wall while he pulled the door forcibly shut. He turned to lead her to towards the Chantry, but she reached out and placed a hand against his chest, leather glove plunking against his metal breastplate.

"Look at you, you're covered in crumbs," she tutted, brushing bits of bread and cheese off his steel chestplate and black tunic. He looked upwards, embarrassed. When this continued for more than a few seconds, he looked back down, watching her nervously, growing increasingly impatient and panicked the lower she brushed.

When her hands moved to beat at his thighs, he took a step back and leaned over to brush himself off. "Hawke, I doubt anyone will be judging me because of crumbs," he said shortly, frustration thick in his tone.

She frowned. "You are entirely too severe on yourself, Fenris," she said, a little shrilly. "I've told you before, you are a perfectly handsome elf, and very skilled, and terribly brave. Breadcrumbs be damned, no one judges you more harshly than yourself." Scowling, she moved past him and stomped towards the Chantry, scratching at her upper arm as his vambrace tickled her.

Gritting his teeth and remembering Ghyslain de Carrac's earlier sage words about women being more trouble than they are worth, Fenris followed after her.

* * *

"I suppose we should pay Anders a visit while we're down here," Hawke said as they all moved out of the stairwell. "I wanted to get everyone together at The Hanged Man tonight, but if he can't make it, I need to fill him in about the expedition."

"Must we really?" Fenris asked testily. "What does the expedition have to do with Anders anyway?" He stopped dead in his tracks as realization hit him. Hawke and the others walked on a few paces before she stopped and turned, noticing that he no longer followed. "Hawke, tell me we aren't bringing _him_ along," he growled.

"We'll need a healer, Fenris," she said simply, but her expression was apologetic. A few turns around the Chantry courtyard and the walk down the stairway to Darktown seemed to have burned off the effect of the wine, and she seemed more herself now. "Anders is probably one of the best healers in Kirkwall. And he's a Grey Warden. Both will be very helpful, when we're talking about being down in the Deep Roads for several weeks. There will undoubtedly be darkspawn, and other injuries besides."

Fenris pumped his hands uselessly, sneering to himself. _I can hardly ask her to leave the abomination behind because he's an arrogant, sanctimonious, hypocritical, dangerous prig of a mage. And he's always ingratiating himself to Hawke…it's disgusting.  
_

_Why doesn't she see through him? Is it just the fact that he is an apostate, or does she really find him… charming? What did I overhear her say to him? That his demon can't complain about its looks? _A sudden vision of Hawke and Anders talking closely over a meal, sharing a bottle of wine the way the two of them just had, sprang to his mind. He felt ill.

Hawke must have noticed his discomfort, for she came to him. "Are you all right, Fenris?" she asked with quiet concern.

He shook his head, looking to the side. He could hear the leather of her glove creaking as she worked her hand at her side. He knew she'd moved to touch him again, but she seemed not to forget herself now, not after this morning. _Even an abomination could offer her more than I could_, he thought bitterly.

She spoke again, even quieter but with a playful, soothing tone. "You look a little green. Too much wine and sandwich, no doubt. Do you need a potion?" She tried to keep her lips from curling into a mischievous smile. "I told you we should have taken a nap." Apparently not all of the Agreggio's effects had worn off.

"Do not concern yourself with me," Fenris said, snapping under the weight of his frustrations. "Go to _Anders_ if you feel you need him. I do not." He moved over to the open side of Darktown that overlooked the harbor channel, crossing his arms and glaring sullenly at one of the Twins that was visible through the perpetual mist. "I will remain here."

Aveline and Varric stirred at his outburst, clearing their throats and moving out of his path. They looked pointedly everywhere but at him and Hawke. Fenris could hear her soft footfalls approaching behind him.

"Fenris, what's this about?" she asked patiently.

He continued to look away, taking in the sight of the Twins, of despair manifested in solid bronze. He found the view apt.

"I know you and Anders don't get along," she said, not waiting long for him not to respond. "And I'm sorry that I didn't mention that he'd be going before now. I never intended to spring it on you like this." She rubbed at her neck then forehead. "We've just been so… busy. The details got lost among everything else."

Fenris remained as still as a statue, so she sighed and leaned over the thick, stone railing. She propped herself up on her forearms as she peered down into the wide, deep, watery channel that had been carved out by magic centuries ago.

"Now I feel sick," she said after a quiet minute. "Remembering sailing into Kirkwall through this channel on that wretched… ship." She looked up at the sky instead, using the opportunity to glance over at Fenris's face. He was still sullenly looking away, expression hard as granite.

"You said you stowed away on a ship, didn't you?" she asked, watching his expression.

His eyes flicked over to her, then away again. "Yes." He stirred, then went back to boring holes into the cliffside with his stare.

A small smile touched her lips. "I get terribly seasick." No response. "Do you?" she prodded gently.

"No."

She twisted her lips together impatiently, then tried again after a moment. "Do you like boats? I think I'd rather walk halfway around Thedas than take ship again, despite the speed."

Fenris unfolded his arms at that, pressing his hands against the stone and leaning over to regard the channel below. She studied him appreciatively in profile, then leaned out too, to follow his gaze despite her feelings of vertigo and nausea at looking down.

"I've been on boats often enough that I no longer get ill. You get used to it," he said tightly. His eyes swept the dull blue, choppy water for a long minute. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and haunted. "No, it's the empty water that I dislike. The thought of being swept overboard and lost out there, alone…" He shuddered visibly, straightening.

Her eyebrows drew down as she turned to follow his movements, leaning on her side and propped up on one elbow now. "I can understand that," she said carefully. "You do know how to swim, though? Dan… they wouldn't have taken you on a boat otherwise, I'd hope."

Fenris crossed his arms again, snorting and curling his lip up in disgust. "Yes, I know how to swim, Hawke," he said angrily. "It would hardly do me any good in a storm though, or if I fell overboard to be left behind and forgotten because of pursuit by the Qunari or pirates."

He stared distantly at a point near her elbow, voice growing bitter. "Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had been carried off by a wave, any one of the many times Danarius dragged me from Minrathous to Seheron and back."

Hawke leaned in, looking up into his eyes. "Don't say that. Besides, you're not that person anymore, Fenris," she said, worried at his changing moods. "Your experiences made you who you are, but you're here now, and you're free." She searched his face, but his expression was still guarded. "I would never leave you behind. I could never forget you."

He turned away at that. After a few moments, he said sullenly, "Yet you did forget. It slipped your mind to tell me that you were bringing Anders."

She sighed, then said exasperatedly, "Well… yes!"

Fenris rolled his eyes and gave a dry, mirthless, "Hmph," still staring out at the tall, jagged cliffs.

Hawke glanced around and inched closer, speaking softly when she noticed that Varric was straining to eavesdrop. "I've been so busy running around half of Kirkwall with you, buying you marvelous swords, or making you sandwiches, that I haven't really been thinking of Anders. Sorry if that disappoints you."

He shot her a skeptical look, but saw she was serious. _This just keeps getting worse the better it gets, _he thought with a sinking feeling, even as his heart strained to break free.

_Perhaps I should back out of the expedition entirely. I do not know how I will bear it, always being around her, but also around __**him**__. Doubtless he will do umpteen simpering, flattering, ingratiating things to curry favor with her before we've even left Kirkwall. _

He fidgeted a bit, then finally let his hands drop to his sides. _But I owe her much. I cannot let her go to the Deep Roads to face darkspawn and other unknown dangers without someone at her back. Or alone with him. Fasta vass, the thought of the two of them together… _

_No, I will find some way to deal with it. I've been through worse. Probably._

"Very well," he said resignedly. "It is hardly my place to decide who to bring or not bring anyway." He looked away from her as she started to smile. "You are the full partner on this, not I. I'm just hired help."

"We're all in this together, and I will ensure everyone gets a fair cut of my share," Hawke assured him. Then she leaned over to look up at him, adding softly, "But you're a little more than just hired help, Fenris. I need you." He glanced down at her, then his eyes darted away again.

_I remember when she wanted me to promise to stay with her. I thought it was just the drink, that she didn't need me then. Do I believe her now? Now that I want her to need me? _

He kept staring into the distance, not trusting himself to look down at her to see what expression she wore this time. _What did I say as she slept? 'I'll be here if you need me…'_

"I said I would go, Hawke," he said with an air of finality.

"I promise to make this worth your while, Fenris," she said sincerely, straightening. "One way or another. Thank you."

He pressed his hands against the stones and leaned over to watch the ships pass by below, sparing a glance for Hawke as she led Aveline and Varric over to Anders's clinic. _What have I gotten myself into? What has she gotten us into?_

* * *

As Hawke entered his clinic, she was spotted by Anders over Bethany's shoulder. Hawke was surprised to see her sister here, but she was glad that Bethany had taken the initiative in seeing Anders. _They will be separated for a few weeks at least… poor Bethany, I hope she will forgive me for stealing her man away for a time._

"Marian!" Anders leapt to his feet, surprising Bethany and cutting her off mid-sentence. Hawke's sister looked over her shoulder blankly, then smiled quietly to herself.

_Awww, Bethany almost looks sad. I must have interrupted something. Damn my timing — I'm having quite the struggle lately being tactful. Trying to stay ahead of Fenris's glum moods must be taking more of a toll on me than I knew. Usually I'm pretty observant, and good about reading these signs._

"We were just talking about you," Anders said with a smirk when she approached. He nodded a quick greeting to Aveline and Varric, then looked back at Hawke with eager eyes.

"Nothing bad, I hope," she responded with a chuckle.

"I was telling him about our encounter with Ser Varnell, actually," Bethany said, looking from Anders to her sister.

"Ahh…" Hawke frowned. "I don't think we'll be hearing from him or Petrice again, but it is a little worrisome to have a bad run-in with a templar."

Bethany gestured with a nod to Anders. "Anders has offered to send word out to his contacts in the underground, just in case there is some talk of trying to locate us."

"Oh! Thank you, Anders," Hawke said with a measure of relief. "That would greatly set my mind at ease." She glanced at Bethany, wishing she could somehow discreetly confide in Anders that her sister would be staying behind for the expedition. _I'll just have to mention it later._

"Well," she said after a moment, smiling at Anders, " I'm told your Deep Roads maps are quite the marvel. It caused a sensation when I showed them to Varric's brother Bartrand. Really sealed the deal. We can head out on the expedition any time."

"Ah," Anders responded, deflating a bit. "I had almost forgotten about that." He looked around his clinic, where two Fereldan women bustled around and a few sickly, thin refugees convalesced. "I suppose I'll have to talk to Lirene and find someone to cover the clinic while we're gone."

Hawke nodded. "I'm sorry. I know you aren't looking forward to this, but you will be a great help," she said sympathetically. Anders just shrugged. "I'm thinking we should plan on leaving the day after tomorrow. That would put us in the Deep Roads on the first of Justinian. Seems auspicious, no?"

"May as well get it over with…" Anders muttered. "I'll be as ready in one day as in one thousand."

She waved her hand to take in the rough, sparse clinic. "I'm sure the coin we'll earn will go a long way towards helping with the clinic, and keeping you one step ahead of the templars. If that's of any consolation." She gave him a comforting smile, but Anders just nodded distractedly.

"Of course," he said. Then he looked up, adding quickly, "And I couldn't let you go there alone. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you." Bethany stirred, but Anders fixed his gaze on Hawke, looking stricken. "You can't know what it's like down there, Marian. I wish there was some way to convince you not to go."

Varric stepped forward, clearing his throat. "It'll be different this time, Blondie. You'll be going with a whole cadre of dwarves and humans, and the Blight's been over for a while," he explained. "There's even going to be a trooper or two, and casks of ale. None of this Grey Warden austerity, with Callings, or Legion of the Dead shit." He shot Anders a look of warning, grinding his teeth when the apostate still looked grim. "So stop scaring my partner, will you?"

"I suppose you'll both just have to see for yourselves," Anders said defiantly. He crossed his arms, looking away and adding in a mumble, "Though it'll be ten times as bad for me…" Varric bristled.

Hawke put a hand on both their shoulders. "Hey now, we're all in this together. It'll be _fine_. We'll get out of Kirkwall for the worst of the summer heat, and there'll be gold, and jewels, crazy Dwarven statues, rivers of lava, songs around the fire… it's like one big sleepover party for _adventurers_!" She grinned at both of them, eyes twinkling.

Varric chuckled, and Anders gave a bark of laughter as he smiled back. "I had a friend like you once," he told her, shaking his head. "Got into all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Didn't think I'd be doing that again."

Hawke straightened, releasing both of them. "Oh? Sounds like _quite_ the friend." She smirked and her eyes glinted, hungry for gossip.

Anders cheeks flushed. "I… probably shouldn't talk about it," he said, growing embarrassed.

"Well, you can tell me all about your friend when we're in the Deep Roads. There'll be plenty of time for stories, and sharing secrets," she said conspiratorially. _Hmm, must have been some friend indeed. Now I __**really**__ want to know who it was._

Anders blushed and looked away, and Hawke chuckled as she wondered if he was shy about talking about it in front of Bethany. "I'll let you and Bethany get back to your conversation," she relented knowingly. "But if you can make it to The Hanged Man this evening, I'm going to be gathering everyone together to address the expedition — who's going, who's staying behind, how things will be split, that sort of thing."

Anders nodded, shrugging and still not looking up. "Of course I'll be there. Wouldn't miss what will likely be our final 'night on the town' for some time," he said, failing to sound cheerful.

"Don't forget to bring Bethany with you," Hawke added with a sly smile, giving her sister a wink. "I'll see you two later. Keep chatting, do. We've got to go investigate a templar who might be poking around down here, so best to keep you both out of sight anyway."

Anders nodded wordlessly, looking a bit disconsolate. Bethany waved goodbye to her sister, Aveline and Varric.

"Aren't they just the cutest couple?" Hawke whispered confidentially to Aveline as they left the clinic.

"I'm not really much of a judge of relationships, Hawke," Aveline said hesitantly. "But Anders doesn't…"

Hawke cut back in excitedly. "I'll have to try to get them to dance tonight, so they'll have something to think on while they're separated." She glanced at Aveline. "You _will_ keep an eye on Bethany and Mother for me, while I'm away? I know you'll be busy taking over as Guard Captain, but it would really ease my mind."

Aveline's confused look over Anders and Bethany changed into a protective expression. "I'll make it a priority, Hawke," the red-haired woman responded. "You know I think of you all as my own kin. I will do everything in my power to make sure they are safe."

Hawke paused at the stairs that led up from Anders's clinic to where Fenris still waited. She gave Aveline a hug. "Thank you, Aveline. We think of you as family, too."

The guardswoman smiled, but she demurred as she drew back. "Well, just don't expect me to be able to do much if any of you actually break the law," she said with a wag of a gloved finger. "And remember that I have no authority over the Templars. I'm afraid they answer to the Chantry and the Knight-Commander. Even the viscount seems almost to answer to them." Aveline sighed. "I guess the downfall of his predecessor remains firmly in the forefront of Viscount Dumar's mind."

Hawke sobered at this. "Well, with you watching from high places and Anders's acquaintances watching from low, I'm sure everything will work out. We won't be gone that long, and then I'll have enough coin to secure Bethany." She chuckled, adding, "No breaking the law required."

They mounted the steps, and Hawke smiled as Fenris fell in at the back of the group. He didn't speak, or look at her, but she kept smiling anyway, as the thought of better times ahead buoyed her against the tedium of searching out Ser Emeric in all of Darktown's dank, seedy corners.

* * *

"This is our territory, we don't want no templars," a rough voice grumbled from ahead, echoing loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Well, at least we can stop searching now…" Hawke said with sigh as she unsheathed her daggers.

Aveline stomped up beside her, bringing out her longsword and Wesley's battered templar shield. "I'd like to send patrols down here, but it would take a small army. And doubtless the criminals would just hide and be back making trouble again within minutes of guardsmen passing by."

Their group rounded the corner to see an older man in a templar uniform stepping backwards from a small group of Darktown street thugs.

"Oh, come on. Bianca's been itching for a fight, but this is hardly worth wasting the bolts," Varric grumbled, hoisting his crossbow up.

Fenris reached over his shoulder and unhooked his new sword, turning it so he gripped it where the sharp, pointed side would face outwards. Hawke gave him a grin. "At least you'll get a bit of practice in," she said.

He glanced sideways at her, eyes partially hidden behind errant strands of white hair that hung in his face. She frowned when he didn't respond, but put her concerns away to follow him into battle.

Within a minute, several of the thugs were down, and the rest had fled back into the depths of the Undercity.

"I thank you, serah, for coming when you did," the templar said gratefully, approaching just as Hawke was about to ask Fenris about the performance of his new sword. "I am Emeric."

"You're older than I thought you'd be," she said distractedly. "Ninette seems to go for the young, pointy-eared sorts." She started when she realized what she'd said, stealing a glance at Fenris to gauge his reaction. His face was stony, no more or less than usual. _Well, he did say 'pointy-eared' wasn't offensive. At least he isn't angry…?_

"What?" Ser Emeric asked, stupefied.

Aveline stepped up. "Ghyslain de Carrac's wife, Ninette. You were asking about her," she said with her usual air of authority.

Emeric looked to the guardswoman, taking in her uniform. "Ah… Her disappearance interested me," he said hesitantly, looking around the group as he pieced together an opinion of them all. "I tried looking into it. However, the investigation has been a waste of time."

Hawke smiled encouragingly at the templar. "That sort of attitude will never pay off," she said easily, trying not to show her discomfort at finding a templar rooting around so near Anders's clinic, where Bethany was happily chatting away.

"Ha!" Ser Emeric seemed to relax. "I was eager at first, but failure has leeched all enthusiasm from me." He shifted, standing in a somewhat tired parade rest. "This all started when Mharen, one of our Circle mages, disappeared. I found it odd. She was a bit older and hardly adventurous. Then I heard about Ninette and two other missing women," he explained.

Varric started laughing. "I had a friend who disappeared once. Turns out... he was under my bed… drunk!" he said haltingly as he guffawed, wiping at the corners of his eyes. Everyone stirred, raising eyebrows and exchanging glances. Hawke gave him a disbelieving stare. "What?" the dwarf said, shrugging helplessly.

"I think the disappearances are connected, and I suspect foul play is involved," Emeric said, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Have you mentioned any of this to the city guard?" Hawke asked, gesturing over her shoulder at Aveline.

Emeric gave a tight-lipped smile but furrowed his brow and did not look at the guardswoman. "They say there's no proof the disappearances are connected. They think the women just left home, that it happens all the time," he explained to Hawke. His expression was troubled.

"Doesn't the Circle use phylacteries to keep track of its mages?" Hawke asked, trying to sound suitably unsure so he wouldn't think too hard about how much she knew about it.

The older templar shook his head ruefully. "We followed her phylactery to a foundry, but found nothing. I had heard of sympathizers smuggling mages through Darktown, so came here hoping to pick up the trail."

Hawke held very still, part of her afraid Fenris would say something to expose Anders. When he remained silent, she felt a hot wash of shame flood through her for doubting him. _He doesn't deserve my mistrust. No wonder he is so wary of me. I probably seem so unsure and inconstant around him, and I know he sees right through me like few ever have._

"But no trace of Mharen," Emeric went on, unaware of her secret discomfort. "And, as you've seen, asking the locals hasn't made me very popular."

Hawke cleared her tight throat before responding. "Mages routinely flee the Circle. Perhaps Mharen just wanted freedom?" she asked.

Ser Emeric shook his head. "She had always been loyal. She received lilies from an unknown suitor, and some of us thought she may have gone to meet him. Perhaps her disappearance is linked." He scratched at his graying temple, looking puzzled and worried.

_Everyone is getting flowers but me,_ Hawke thought with a jealous sniff._ Ninette, some old lady mage… Although, lilies here too? It could be a coincidence, but both of them vanishing could also be a coincidence… and that's coincidentally too many coincidences.  
_

"People don't just disappear," she said, also concerned now. "Perhaps they were murdered or kidnapped."

"We found no bodies, no ransom notes. Those women just vanished," the templar said darkly.

Hawke sighed, sensing this task was about to take a turn for the more complicated. "Don't you hate it when something goes missing? I lose things all the time," she said absentmindedly.

"I… what?" Emeric stuttered. Varric chuckled, but Aveline and Fenris both shifted. Hawke roused at that.

"The women. They're missing, and you can't find them," she explained, covering her sheepishness with a false air of jesting. _This must be how Varric felt sharing his little anecdote. I guess I need to focus, I am getting distracted here._

"Ah. Right…" Ser Emeric lowered his quizzical eyebrow. "I cannot lie, serah. I tire of searching. This battle showed that I'm no longer the warrior I used to be. I know when to walk away." He rummaged around under his skirt, which for some reason made Hawke want to giggle, though she managed to keep a straight face.

_What is wrong with me this afternoon? Perhaps I should have gone easier on Fenris's Agreggio. I hope I didn't say anything stupid at lunch... it is rather hazy, come to think on it._

"Here," said Emeric, handing her a small stack of papers, "Take my findings. Perhaps you can make more use of them." He nodded in farewell, then turned to leave sighing, "I'm going back to the Gallows. I'm too old for this."

Hawke watched the templar leave, then turned to her companions. "Well… not a lot to go on. A phylactery that leads to a foundry, and vanishing women receiving lilies."

"I still think he's making connections where there are none," Aveline said firmly. "No doubt plenty of women receive lilies and are home enjoying them as we speak. If there was something to this, the guard would have seen it. Mages routinely flee the circle, and noblewomen do just up and leave their husbands, Hawke."

Hawke handed her one of the pieces of paper, then another to Varric and Fenris. Fenris took his reluctantly, only accepting it after she'd prodded it several times into his limply hanging hand.

"Maybe so, but it's worth looking into after coming this far. Let's see if there's anything useful in his notes," she instructed.

They all peered at their papers, and Fenris played along with gritted teeth at his deception. _Venhedis, will this woman insist on making me read something every day from now on? I cannot tell her now, not after this morning. And certainly not in front of these two._

"Does anyone else's have a dirty limerick about Andraste on it?" Varric asked jokingly, trying to peek at the sheet Fenris was holding.

Fenris thrust it at the dwarf. "I can't make heads or tails of this. You take it," he said tersely. _Well, I haven't lied about it yet. It isn't any of their business anyway._

"Hawke," Aveline said sternly. "There isn't anything here. It's just a jumble of words, locations, and some hearsay about the missing women."

"So that foundry in Lowtown…" Hawke murmured, flipping her paper over, tapping at a circled set of words, "seems to be the only solid lead. I should look into that." She glanced up and gathered the pieces of paper from the others. "Well, off to Lowtown, I suppose. It'll be near dark by the time we wind our way out of here and down there. But that should make it a little easier to look around. Almost all of the workers will be gone."

Aveline sighed. "Let's make this quick."

"Yes," Fenris said impatiently. "I truly regret taking down that notice now."

Hawke smiled, tucking away Emeric's notes. "It was a sweet gesture, but yes, it has gotten a bit involved. Still," she said, looking up at him, "We got a nice lunch out of it, no?"

"I still can't believe you two turned down nug-on-a-stick," Varric said, moving towards the main Darktown passage. "It was perfectly done today, too. Squeaky, with a hint of mint. I don't know what you two ate, but nothing could top that."

Hawke looked at Fenris, but he was staring down at his hand while he flexed it. "Sometimes, Varric," she said with a fond smile as she regarded Fenris, "you just really want to share a sandwich, fine wine and fine company."

Not for the first time, Varric and Aveline raised their eyebrows and exchanged a glance before looking pointedly away from Hawke and Fenris.

* * *

"Hey there, lovely." The human female whore near the Foundry District ran one grubby hand down her rumpled, low-bodiced dress, writhing as she regarded Fenris. She winked when he looked up at her, then she pursed her lips to blow him a kiss.

He recoiled, taking a step to the side as if to avoid an airborne missile.

"Hey there, slattern," Hawke called flatly. "No sale. There's been a murderer seen around here. Beat it, or you could be next." She gave the mousy-blonde prostitute a hard glare as she pointed out of the square.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke. They all did, Aveline's and Varric's eyes turning too, to regard her as the prostitute scurried away towards The Hanged Man.

"What?" Hawke asked defensively, glancing at Fenris. "He doesn't need some filthy whore pawing at him, licking her chops like he's a rare side of beef."

"I agree, you should send Isabela packing," Aveline said dryly. "Would save us all a world of trouble." Hawke laughed loud and long at that, peals of her laughter echoing around the narrow alleyways between the foundries.

Fenris fidgeted uncomfortably. _Does everyone take notice of the way Isabela preys on me? This is why I prefer solitude, and to stay inconspicuous._

_But it seems Hawke has a jealous streak. That would explain why I haven't seen her take Isabela with us since coming back from the Wounded Coast. And she definitely sent up that street walker._ He smiled to himself as a fleeting image of Hawke jealously slapping Hadriana full across the face flashed in his mind. Then his memories of the magister's apprentice turned dark, and he shook his head trying to push away the feelings of bitterness, fear and hatred that threatened to consume him.

_It's always harder to forget at night. I need to think of something else, to focus._ He looked at Hawke, watching her as she shuffled through and read over all of Emeric's notes near a torch.

"This must be the place," she said, gesturing with a tilt of the head to a foundry door behind her.

She folded the notes away again, then ran up the steps to pick the lock. "Actually…" she said, pausing to try the knob before pulling out her lockpicks. The door swung open, and she gave Fenris a private smile. "See, I remembered to try the knob first this time."

He gave a small smile in return, grateful that she'd unknowingly helped to distract him from the bitter memories of his time as a slave.

They all followed her inside the dark, empty foundry. The air was hot and dry, and it had the tang of copper, iron, smoke and ash about it. On the whole, it reminded Fenris a little too much of blood, and Danarius's workroom. Hawke paused cautiously in the doorway that led from the back room where they had entered into the main foundry area. Fenris came up behind her, scanning the dark corners of the large, dim room with sharp eyes.

At a quick, quiet intake of breath from Hawke, his gaze snapped to the direction she was looking. An older man in robes, face indistinct in the darkness, ran along the upper balcony of the work area and disappeared into one of the side rooms.

Hawke dashed into the foundry, unsheathing her knives. Fenris, Aveline and Varric were quick on her heels. As she moved to climb the wooden stairs that led up to the second level of the foundry, several shades, abominations and even a desire demon rose out of the grimy floor. Hawke pulled up short, looking around at the ethereal creatures, then back up to the empty walkway where the man had been.

"Demons," Fenris said with disgust. _That explains the man's robes. _"Summoned by another mage, no doubt."

The shades converged on Hawke, and she slashed at them, dancing backwards to avoid being surrounded. Varric sent a barrage of bolts into one of the abominations that was attacking now from up the wooden steps. Aveline took on the second abomination, slamming her shield viciously into its grotesquely deformed face.

The desire demon laughed a throaty, rich, seductive laugh, languidly floating high and turning in mid-air to assess her new surroundings.

Fenris charged the shades from the side, sweeping the flat side of Hayder's Razor to bludgeon all three of the specters at once. It scattered them, giving Hawke a reprieve. He focused on one of the shades as Hawke faced off against another, neither of them waiting for the beings to rise before attacking.

He turned his sword sharp-edge downward, cleaving the shade in half with his blade. The dark form seemed to bulge at first, like a squeezed, overstuffed pillow. Then it gave way, bursting into a swirl of black dust and otherworldly mist.

Hawke tore two long rents into the shade she faced, and it sagged to the ground like a split grainsack. She immediately flew at the third shade, so Fenris turned to find a new foe.

He saw that Varric had effectively pinned one abomination on the stairs, and that Aveline too was holding her ground against the other. _There was a desire demon here, too. Where is she? How can I not see her? She must be…_

A warm hand slid up the side of Fenris's neck, caressing his ear. His lyrium tattoos hissed as the hand touched him, but he stood rooted to the ground. "I want you, Fenris. I've wanted you since that first night," Hawke whispered.

Fenris lowered his sword, leaning on it heavily as a wave of desire crashed over him, dragged up from the depths of his heart where he'd carefully kept it tucked away. He hardened almost immediately, loins aching with sudden stiffness. "Get… out of my head, demon," he groaned, fighting against the traitorous reaction of his body.

The hand continued to stroke along his ear as another one snaked down his side to his thigh, rubbing at his leggings. "My, what a big sword you have," said Hawke's voice, though Fenris could hear the ghastly echo of the desire demon's true voice in it. "I don't know if I could take being on the receiving end of such a... mighty weapon."

"I will kill you and he who summoned you," Fenris swore angrily, shuddering to bite back a moan as Hawke's hand brushed up his thigh and under his tunic. His whole body ached and burned, both with tight longing and the sizzle of liquid lyrium under his skin. "Flee while you still can, demon harlot."

The battle began to fade from view, and Fenris shook his head against the sight of Danarius's bedroom, with its massive round bed covered in plump pillows, curtained all in silk. "No. Do not bring me here. I do not desire to go back."

The demon nibbled at his ear, and he cried out with surprise and pain. He closed his eyes and went to his knees, though the ground seemed cushioned beneath him. When he opened his eyes again, Hawke was naked, spread beneath him on Danarius's bed, where Fenris knelt still leaning on his sword. "No! I do not want to see this!" he groaned, tearing his eyes away from the sight.

He screwed his eyes shut and raised his sword, turning it in his hands until he could tell by the weight of it that the sharp side pointed downwards.

"I can give you everything you want, Fenris," the demon said, using Hawke's voice. "You can have her anywhere like this, even on your old master's bed. Anything you wish. Just put down the sword and… I'll pull out your _other._"

The demon shifted beneath Fenris, trying to draw him in by wrapping her legs around his waist. The lyrium tendrils that swirled up his hips and sides blazed under the pressure, even through his belt and tunic. His eyes went watery at the pain of it, and at the knowledge that even desiring Hawke could not fully extinguish the lingering agony of what had been done to him by the magisters.

"I cannot. I will not!" he shouted, forcing his eyes open as he brought the massive two-handed sword down onto the imitation of Hawke. The hooked point of Hayder's Razor took her square in the temple, the heavy blade stopping and the blow jarring up his arms. The desire demon howled as her disguise and scene of Danarius's chambers vanished.

Hawke's creamy skin purpled, and her hair twisted into hard, winding horns. The lascivious look of hunger on her face slackened to a rictus of anger and pain. Sharp claws slashed at his face, and he barely managed to pull his sword free and scramble backwards before she swiped him. Fenris dragged his heavy blade across the floor behind him as he scooted in a seated position away from the rising desire demon.

"You could have had this," the demon said with a hiss, caressing one of her bare, heavy breasts. She teased at the nipple with a fierce but delicately clawed hand, and Fenris found he could not look away. "I can be infinitely better than any human, woman or man. It would have seemed like an eternity of pleasure," she purred. Then her smoky eyes flashed. "Now you will still die, and all you will feel is nothingness and blackness!"

A whirling dagger flashed over Fenris's head, plunging to the hilt into the desire demon's chest just between her two generous breasts. The demon's sparse drapings of gold chains shook and jingled as she stared down at the dagger protruding from her ribcage with shock.

"You weren't here when I told the other slut to get lost," Hawke said darkly as she strode up to the desire demon. She knocked the demon's arm easily aside with her left forearm and grabbed her by her slackened chin. "So I'll tell you to your face." The demon struggled weakly against Hawke's grasp, trying to float higher into the hair. But Hawke held her firm, eyes narrowing.

"Fuck off and die, bitch." She thrust her other dagger swiftly up under the demon's neck and into her slender throat.

Despite the blades lodged deep in her neck and chest, a high wail was torn from the desire demon's throat as she rose with limbs outstretched, then crumpled to the floor. The body lay motionless, veiled eyes staring blankly at Fenris where he sat on the floor holding onto his sword, until Hawke kicked the demon onto its back to retrieve her daggers.

"He doesn't like … being touched…" she said, grunting with the effort of removing the daggers from the limp, curvaceous body. As soon as she'd pulled the second one free, the demon's corpse seemed to melt away into motes of darkness.

Fenris rose to a crouch, noting that Aveline and Varric had teamed up to dispatched the last abomination. _No one saw but her,_ he hoped_. And that was from behind, and she would not have seen the deceptions the desire demon wove._ He looked cautiously at Hawke, rising to his feet when he saw she was approaching.

"Are you all right, Fenris? She had you in some kind of choke grip, then threw you. I was worried when I saw you go to your knees," she said, eyes searching over his body for signs of injury.

He shook his head, trying to clear away the memory of driving the point of his sword into her forehead. "I am fine," he lied gruffly. "We should move on. Find the mage who fled. This was undoubtedly his doing." _I would see his heart in my hands for doing this to me._

She frowned, trying to look into his eyes, but he glanced away not wanting to reveal the truth. _I am more vulnerable because of my feelings for her than I ever thought. And I already thought this a madness, a weakness and a foolish hope. Venhedis! _He tightened his grip on his sword, moving towards the steps when she did not.

Hawke relented, following him along with Varric and Aveline to the walkway that partially ringed the main foundry room. They searched, moving around to where the robed man had fled. Soon Aveline drew up short, placing a gloved hand on Varric's shoulder to keep him from trodding on the bloody cloth bag that appeared to have been dropped near a doorway towards the back of the foundry. Fenris sniffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Hawke crouched down to poke the cloth pouch open with a gloved finger.

Something glinted in the torchlight above. "That's a distinctive ring," Varric said, squinting down as he watched Hawke. "Can I have it?"

Hawke's brow drew down deeply as she pulled the bag all the way open, laying the entire contents bare. Aveline shook her head, Fenris swore in Arcanum, and Varric muttered a hasty retraction.

"A severed hand, a ring, and a pile of bones," Hawke listed, regarding the grisly items. The ring was still on the hand.

She glanced up at her companions. "Emeric will want to see this, and I should bring the ring to Ghyslain. It might belong to Ninette."

Fenris cursed again under his breath.

"I know," she said to him, not understanding the Tevinter words but sure she took his meaning. "But it's good you did find that notice. There is obviously something going on here after all, and this might keep someone else's loved one from disappearing." She carefully drew the drawstring, wrapping the items back together in the bloody bag.

She stood, and Fenris reached for the bag, not wanting her to stain her hands with the blood. "Let me," he said grimly as she let him take it. "A little more blood on my hands is of no consequence."

* * *

They searched the rest of the warehouse, but none of them found anything more.

Fenris could hardly concentrate, between the powerful smells of the foundry and of the pouch he held, to say nothing of all the things that had happened to him that day. Aveline, Varric and Hawke all searched as well, disturbed and concerned too, but finding nothing.

Still, in the years to come, a part of him would always blame himself for being distracted, for bringing Hawke that notice, and for not admitting then that he could not read Emeric's notes. Even though he was there when Hawke decided for herself at every step of the way to follow up on the matter, this night would eat away at him.

She had reviewed all the notes personally this night, then over and over again years later while he watched quietly from the other end of her bed. She never found anything useful but the foundry address, so how would he have seen anything? She had wanted to get to the bottom of this. They both admitted that even her curiosity couldn't and didn't stop what eventually happened.

Still, Fenris would go on holding himself responsible for this night, despite the facts, and despite each of his friends assuring him that the fault lay elsewhere. He'd found the notice, omitted that he could not read, and had been too distracted to look under every pile of crates, or move the groups of barrels in every back room.

The blood had been on his hands, and he, of all people, knew how hard it was to wash away.

* * *

**A/N:** Cue the Law & Order "Dun dun!" Part 3 will be coming soon…

Thanks again to everyone who chimed in about the lunch scene, and a special shout out to Procrastination Possum who reviews so often, but who I can't respond to directly on FF. :) The reviews really keep me going, so thank you for taking the time. I appreciate it beyond what words can say!


	28. Missing Pieces, Part 3

**A/N: **Part 3! The length is ridiculous, I know, but at least they get to let their hair down for a while. Should I split these up further, into more manageable lengths, or do you, dear reader, prefer having a nice juicy chunk to read all at once? I aim to please, so feedback is most appreciated.

The song for the third section is "Tavern Music" from the DA2 soundtrack. I think of the dance as a mix of jig, then dirty dancing, then Elizabethan something, with a bit of showmanship at the end.

BioWare owns it all, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"Here, elf, put that thing in here." Varric dumped a few stray crossbow bolts out of a small, wooden box, and pushed it over to Fenris.

Fenris deposited the bloody cloth sack in it, and Varric quickly slid the lid back on.

"Just looking at that bag gives me the creeps," the dwarf muttered as he tucked the box far back on one of his odd, geometrical, dwarven bookshelves. "Hawke, make sure you take it with you when you go home."

"I will," she said quietly. "I'll need to take it with me in the morning, to show Emeric and Ghyslain." She gave a thin smile. "If Gamlen happens to go snooping around tonight, it will teach him a good lesson about the virtues of respecting other people's privacy."

Fenris quietly slipped his gloves off without removing his vambraces, not participating in the conversation. He looked troubled, and distant.

Hawke glanced over and noticed his expression as he was stuffing his unique, clawed pair of gloves into a pouch on the back of his belt. "Make sure you wash your hands, Fenris," she said gently.

He came out of his pensive mood to roll his eyes. "Hawke…"

"I'm serious," she insisted, looking grim. "That blood-soaked bag, the shades, the desire demon…" Hawke wiped her own hands on her leather, armored skirt, looking disturbed. "I washed mine three times, and I still feel… grisly."

Fenris frowned down at his own hands, then wordlessly stalked out of the room when he looked up and saw Hawke's unrelenting expression. He headed towards the tavern's privy.

"I can't believe you grabbed a demon by the face, Hawke," Varric said animatedly, settling back into his chair at the head of the table. "That'll make a great story to tell the expedition workers. But, Maker's breath, the way you took her down… You hardly left me anything to embellish!"

Hawke chuckled, going to the wine crate in the corner and plucking out a bottle of wine for her and Fenris to share.

"I've been working on my dagger throws, ever since seeing Isabela take that woman in the throat, the night of her 'duel,'" she said, crooking her fingers in the air as she held the wine bottle.

"Glad to know I inspire you," Isabela said from the doorway, managing to sashay her way into the suite, even as she dragged her barstool behind her with one hand, and held her own bottle —whiskey, naturally — in the other. "I was beginning to think you didn't like me."

The Rivaini woman smiled knowingly at Hawke, who looked embarrassed.

"I-Isabela," Hawke stammered. "Long time no see. I trust you've been keeping busy, even without silly old me dragging you everywhere?" She gave the other woman a sheepish half-smile.

Isabela set her stool down and perched on it, crossing her legs as she took a long pull of whiskey.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she answered in a dry, alcohol-burned voice, after lowering her bottle. "I haven't been lonely. My hired elven company hasn't been nearly as enjoyable as yours must be, but I managed to make up for it in quantity, if not quality."

"I… see," Hawke said hesitantly. "Look, about the other day…"

Fenris stalked back into the room, wiping his hands on his tunic. "I don't feel much cleaner," he grumbed. "This tavern is disgusting. Sour ale, vomit, and the smell of desperation." There was a clear look of revulsion on his face.

He drew up short when he noticed Isabela, adding a layer of wariness to his expression.

"I live here you know," Isabela objected, turning her head to regard him. One hand went to her hip, pulling her low, tight bodice even tighter.

"Then I stand corrected," Fenris replied dryly, narrowing his eyes.

He moved over to where Hawke was still standing near the wine crate, going wide around Isabela's stool. He stood close to Hawke, almost possessively so, as he leaned down to fish a corkscrew out of the crate.

Hawke smiled privately to herself. _No, there doesn't seem to be anything to be jealous of… That's good, I guess._

_I just hope Isabela lets it go… I'd rather not have to duel her for Fenris's affections. I doubt he'd like me much, if I was missing a few teeth, or an eye… _

Fenris pulled the wine bottle out of her hands, his eyes hidden by a hanging swath of white hair.

He set about pulling the cork out quickly and savagely. His long, elegant fingers gripped the bottle tightly in his left hand, and the muscles of his right arm flexed and bulged appealingly as he twisted the corkscrew, then pulled.

Isabela made an appreciative noise as she took another swig from her bottle, watching Fenris with a level interest that did not really match his mundane actions.

Hawke accepted both the bottle and the cork-laden corkscrew back from him as he pushed them hastily into her hands. Fenris barely waited for her to take them before he made a bee-line to his usual chair, across from Hawke's, slumping down in it.

Varric raised an eyebrow at his new table companion. "You trying to set some kind of speed record for wine bottle opening, elf? Is that another sport in Tevinter?"

Fenris cut his eyes at the dwarf, making a low, warning grumble in his throat.

Hawke brought the wine to the table, pouring Fenris a generous cup before she tried to wrestle the cork free from the corkscrew.

Fenris took a long drink, then stared darkly into his wine.

_Maker, it's a wonder he didn't break the corkscrew, _she thought as she tried to free the cork._ Or the bottle. I see why he uses his lyrium talent at home. This is crammed all the way on, crooked. _

_Maybe I should just cut it off… but then we'd have to finish off the bottle. And I probably shouldn't drink that much, after having the Agreggio at lunch… _She twisted with all her strength.

_Easier… pulling daggers… from the desire demon_, she thought ruefully, extending her arms down and bracing one hand against her thigh._ Still… can't… get it… loose…_

After a minute of her struggling with the tightly lodged cork, Fenris loudly set down his wine cup and thrust out a hand. She relinquished the stubborn thing to him gladly, and within seconds, he wordlessly tossed both the cork and corkscrew down on the middle of the table, separated.

Isabela made another appreciative noise from her stool.

"Well, that's one desire demon for Hawke, and one cork for the elf," Varric announced, chuckling.

"_Don't_," Fenris warned, snatching his wine cup back up. "I do not wish to discuss that."

Varric shrugged. "Suit yourself. But it makes a hell of a tale."

Hawke poured herself some wine before setting the bottle between her and Fenris. She sat in her favorite seat, across from him.

"Varric," she said diplomatically, "perhaps if you tell that story, you could leave out the part about Fenris." She gave the dwarf a meaningful look.

"Yeah… Uh, right," Varric said slowly, nodding in agreement after considering Fenris's tense posture. "The good part starts with you throwing your knife, anyway."

"A desire demon?" Isabela asked with a raised eyebrow. "That's what you threw your dagger at, Hawke? And you got her?" She saluted Hawke with her whiskey bottle before taking a quick sip. "I'd have paid good coin to see _that _fight. I've heard they're mostly naked, and devastatingly _sexy_."

Fenris gritted his teeth against another growl. Then he took a mouthful of wine, already draining the cup, to keep himself from saying anything that might reveal details of what the demon had attempted.

Hawke shot Isabela a glare, and thought briefly about giving Fenris an encouraging nudge under the table. The idea soured on her immediately. _He doesn't make it very easy to comfort him or cheer him up_. She heard his cup bang down with an empty, hollow thud, so filled it for him, instead.

"So, Rivaini," Varric said smoothly. "What are your plans, while we're in the Deep Roads?"

Isabela shrugged. "Oh, you know. Men. Women. Elves. Maybe a dwarf thrown in, for nostalgia."

Hawke rolled her eyes, Fenris looked away, and Varric cleared his throat. "I didn't really want the sordid details," he muttered, looking up sufferingly.

"Ohhh, you mean besides the usual!" Isabela said, leaning dangerously forward, for someone wearing so little clothing, to slap a hand on the table. She looked up thoughtfully for a few moments.

"Well, I'm going to look some more into my lost relic… and, I suppose I'll keep a close eye on Kitten, since you'll be gone, Varric. Probably get in a few fights, break a few hearts, go embarrass Aveline in Hightown, and… catch up on my reading and writing," she said, shrugging.

"Too bad Big Girl isn't here tonight. I came up with a really good limerick about a red-headed guard from Orlais, who could use a good roll in the hay. I wrote it down somewhere…" Isabela began fumbling about in her bodice.

"Reading?" Hawke interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I love books. Haven't had a chance to read in months, though. Anything good out, these days?"

Isabela nodded, removing her hand from inside her cleavage. "Mmm. Yes, 'Hesserian's Spear' is the one I'm currently working through. Gripping," she winked, "in _all_ the right places."

Varric hastily excused himself to grab some ale, and Fenris was squirming in his chair, looking very uncomfortable.

"I… don't really go much for religious works," Hawke said reluctantly. "… You do?" She sounded more than a little skeptical.

Isabela smirked. "Oh, yes, it's a religious experience, all right."

Hawke flushed as realization dawned on her, but Isabela continued anyway. "I'm almost through with it. I was going to let Bethany borrow it, but if you want to take it on the expedition with you…"

"_Isabela!_" Hawke glanced at Fenris, then leaned over to whisper loudly at the Rivaini woman. "I cannot believe you would corrupt my little sister with… with," she glanced at Fenris again, then whispered more quietly, "…_naughty_ books!"

"She's an adult, Hawke, she can handle it." Isabela waved a hand dismissively. "I thought it might give her a boost of confidence with men. She seems inexperienced, and it _does_ have pictures…"

"Andraste's pert… I mean, yes, she probably… but if Mother… or Gamlen!" Hawke spluttered.

Then she paused, looking intrigued. "Pictures?"

Isabela nodded slowly, smiling.

Hawke considered Fenris out of the corner of her eye. He was still looking away uncomfortably, ignoring them — but, obviously, he followed the conversation.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. "We should discuss books… some other time, Isabela."

"Spoilsport," Isabela tsked, but her eyes gleamed.

She considered both Hawke and Fenris with a devious look, then. "It _does_ have some rather interesting passages that could easily be read aloud, and _acted_ aloud, by two. No doubt it'd relieve some of the tedium down in the dark, Deep Roads."

Fenris's back stiffened visibly.

"We, uh, that is, I don't…" Hawke stammered, blushing.

Varric came back in with his ale, and Hawke pressed her lips together, staring at her wine.

_Enough of this,_ Fenris thought irritably._ I do not want to hear about books, think about sex, or imagine the Archon Hessarion and Andraste… fornicating. _He seized Varric's return to cut in on the conversation. _Isabela mentioned a lost relic. What would a woman like her be doing with a relic to lose in the first place?_

"So this relic you mentioned losing…" Fenris said suspiciously, sitting forward in his chair to fix Isabela with a flat look.

Isabela blinked, looking lost herself for a moment. Then her expression turned amorous, her lips pulling up into a smoldering pout as she gazed back at Fenris.

"You have pretty eyes," she sighed. She propped her face up on one hand as she leaned in to admire him, legs still crossed.

It was his turn to blink. "I… have pretty eyes," he repeated warily. _I… was not expecting that._

Hawke watched the exchange, an eyebrow going up. Varric made a defeated groan, muttering under his breath about needing more ale.

"You elves have such pretty eyes, even the men," Isabela said breathily, running her hand down her face, to her neck.

_Ummm…_ Fenris thought mutely, wanting to glance at Hawke, but not wanting to give Isabela the triumph of forcing him to break the stare first.

"It makes me want to… pluck them out and wear them as a necklace." She stroked at the heavy, gold torc around her neck, swinging the whiskey bottle in her other hand.

Fenris regarded Isabela stiffly. "I wouldn't suggest trying," he said, after a moment.

Isabela sat up straight on her stool, pressing a hand to her ample chest and looking taken aback.

"Oh, I would never try," she said innocently, though suddenly, she had a small knife in her free hand. She looked at it as if she was surprised, then embarrassed.

Still, she ran her eyes along the blade rather deliberately. "Not without reason, of course."

Fenris turned back to his wine hastily. "Forget I said anything." _I think I'd rather listen to them talk about books after all. Less dangerous._

Hawke regarded Fenris and Isabela with a small twinge of jealousy, but let it go when she saw how uncomfortable he looked again.

_Would he accept a compliment from me with the same level of wariness? _she wondered. _Or was it just the threat that made him uneasy? Half of my compliments seem to go over his head, and the other half have only offended him, _she recalled, heart sinking a bit.

They all drank quietly for a time, waiting for the others to arrive. Hawke peered at Fenris over the rim of her cup, hoping to catch his eye.

_He does have nice eyes,_ she thought_. Beautiful, deep, piercing eyes. The color of… grass? No, too deep a green. The color of… a spruce? No, too much blue. Bottle glass? No, too brittle.  
_

She pondered deeply, unaware that she was very obviously gazing at him.

Varric and Isabela noticed, exchanging a glance. Varric focused back on his ale, but Isabela watched with voyeuristic glee.

_Moss? Hmm, yes_, Hawke decided. _Dewy moss, like you find draped over stones. _She sighed. _A little too stony, in fact. I wish he didn't look so sad and guarded all the time. Or that he didn't always look away, either._

Fenris reached for the wine, then, to fill his cup, and his gaze brushed against hers, briefly. She instinctively gave him a small smile, but if he noticed it, he didn't return it.

_Sweet Andraste, I wish I hadn't called this little gathering now. _Her smile faded as she craned to look out the door, into the taproom. _We could be back at his mansion, and I could be having a bath._ Her heart began to pound at the thought of being alone with him again, at night, getting undressed in his rooms. _Then again..._

_He said to have a care around him_, she thought, trying to calm herself. _But… I distinctly remember flirting with him over lunch. Though he started off rather… well, broody. But, I also could swear he seemed more than just peeved about Anders. He almost seemed... jealous. As if he had any reason to be jealous of __**Anders**__…_

"By all the Old Gods…" Fenris muttered under his breath, looking away from the door as his lip curled up into a sneer._ All at once. It is like some kind of… mage ambush__,_ he thought, muttering to himself in Arcanum_. Hawke certainly brings me to strange places. The day has been far too long for this._

"Hello, all," Anders said from the suite door, behind Merrill and Bethany who were already entering. His tone was strained, and he shot a look of exasperation at Merrill's back. "Look at the stray, wet kitten we found on our way here from Darktown."

"I thought I knew the way here, from the Alienage, even in the dark…" Merrill said, going to stand next to Isabela's stool. "But yes, I didn't remember the stairs down being so long and dark. I nearly ran out of twine, before Anders found me."

The elf considered the available seats with wide, innocent eyes, unaware of Varric, Anders and Hawke all shaking their heads. There was one empty chair next to Fenris, another one across, next to Hawke, and one at the end of the table, next to Isabela's stool.

Anders and Bethany seemed to be considering where to sit as well. Both of their eyes were shifting away from chair next to the brooding, muttering Fenris, and to Hawke's.

"Oh, _Kitten_," Isabela tutted, brushing at Merrill's damp clothes. "And how did you come to be wet?"

Merrill quickly folded herself into the seat between Fenris and Isabela. She sat cross-legged in the wooden chair, which had been borrowed from the taproom.

Fenris leaned away in his own seat, to avoid being hit by the wooden staff Merrill still had strapped to her back. His expression was one of pure irritation.

"I came by way of the docks," Merrill explained excitedly. "I went to visit the birds, and to see if I could find any pirates like from Varric's stories. But I didn't see any parrots, just gulls. And no hooks, or peg-legs, and only one eyepatch. But that was on a dog. But he didn't seem salty at all…"

Isabela laughed, and Varric hid his face in one hand.

Bethany took the seat next to her sister, smiling and murmuring a greeting to Fenris. "I didn't get a chance to say farewell this morning, Fenris, nor did I see you in the clinic this afternoon. But it's good to see you again." She gave him a polite, kind smile when he looked up, startled.

"Ah, Bethany. Yes," he said, looking a little less irritated, though Merrill's staff still forced him to lean towards Varric's end of the table. "I apologize if I was abrupt with you this morning. I was… distracted. Forgive me."

Anders snorted, resignedly taking the seat at end of the table, glancing at Hawke, then turning to Bethany. "Mark you calendars. Bloomingtide the twenty-eighth. He actually _apologized…_ to a _mage, _of all people."

"This is going to be either a very long, or a very _short_ trip for you," Fenris said hotly, narrowing his eyes at Anders.

Anders's eyes narrowed back. Then he shifted his gaze to Hawke. "I thought we talked about this," he said, moving his lips very little, though everyone at the table could obviously hear.

Hawke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but her eyes flashed. "I never said anything about leaving Fenris behind." Her voice was firm.

Anders frowned, shaking his head in dismay and disgust. Fenris looked between them, then away, to drink more wine.

"Only four of us can go," she explained tightly. "I need someone out front, at my side. It would be inappropriate for me ask it of Aveline — her place is with the Guard, right now."

Bethany looked at her sister, then around the table, then back to Hawke again. "Four? But…"

Varric cleared his throat just as Hawke began to pale. "I'm a full partner in my own right, Sunshine," he deftly explained. It wasn't a lie, but neither was it the full truth.

Fenris stirred in his seat as he noticed the stricken look on Hawke's face, and Varric's too smooth deflection.

_Yet another example of how Hawke and I talk of everything but what matters, _he thought, sensing something was amiss. _I should have asked more questions about the expedition over lunch, instead of just staring at her and getting distracted._

"You'll get a fifteen percent cut of my share of the profits," Hawke explained, focusing on Anders. "Fenris too. And another ten percent will be split between Aveline, Merrill, and you, Isabela, for the work you've all done to get us this far."

Merrill just looked around the table, but Isabela pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not bad, for not having to go down there," the dark-skinned Rivaini said.

Bethany nodded with understanding. "I suppose that's fair, lumping our shares together, sister, since we're family."

After a brief pause, Hawke nodded. "It seems the right thing to do," she said carefully, "since I don't really have a choice about whether to bring you." Her eyes darted to Varric, over to Anders, and then to Fenris.

Fenris held her eyes for a moment, then gave her a slight nod as he looked away again to take another drink._ She should just tell her sister,_ he thought with some concern._ Still, Hawke is right. What choice does she have? Take her sister into the blighted Deep Roads, or leave her behind to the templars. Not much in the way of options._

_Seems an easy decision, to me. The Circle would be preferable to risking death. Bethany belongs there anyway. Though no doubt Hawke finds it a little more difficult to chance it. But anything is preferable to death. _

Fenris paused at that thought, wondering if he thought becoming a slave again would also be preferable.

_The night I met Hawke…_ he recalled. _The sheer number of bounty hunters Danarius brought to throw at me. Even I had not expected so many. Insurmountable numbers_, he realized, _enough to make me surrender, or die. _

_Would I have surrendered? If she hadn't been there? As much as I hate these markings, I would not let Danarius flay them from my corpse. _The implications troubled him deeply.

"Any words of wisdom, Varric?" Hawke asked, deferring to the dwarf at the head of the table.

Varric shrugged. "Settle your affairs, lock your door on the way out, and say goodbye to the sky?" he chuckled. No one laughed, except for Isabela.

"But seriously, take a change of clothes or two, but only stuff you absolutely need. Don't bring anything you wouldn't mind losing in a cave-in. Or an explosion." He gave them all a serious look.

Then he grew thoughtful again. "Take a good bath before we go. There's only so much water we can carry. Everyone's going to wind up ripe enough, without starting out that way."

Hawke shifted in her seat, glancing over to Fenris. But he was still lost in thought, brow deeply furrowed.

"And think of some good stories to tell. These lackeys Bartrand's hired will be ripe for the picking." Varric's eyes twinkled. "By the time we get back, they'll do all the work of making us famous, on top of rich. It's going to be one hell of an adventure."

Hawke smiled at that. _Adventure, nobility, fame, fortune…_ she thought._ No more smuggling, no more odd jobs. That would make these last few hectic weeks more than worth it. Well, that, and meeting Fenris. _She admired him for a moment, though he still stared down at his drink.

Then she felt everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her to speak again. She looked around the table, then bowed her head to stare at her own cup, thoroughly embarrassed to be caught so openly ogling him. "As good a reason as any to risk the Deep Roads," she said lightly.

Fenris finally stirred when she spoke, and he took a long drink._ I don't care to be famous, and wealth has limits — or even disadvantages — for someone like me. _

He looked at Hawke, who was now studiously looking away. _Probably avoiding letting Bethany see her face,_ he decided._ She is entirely too easy to read, sometimes._ His thoughts got jumbled then, as he reflected on Hawke, before he remembered he'd been considering the notoriety and wealth that the expedition could bring him.

_No, there is only one reason I am going_. He thought again of meeting her that night in the Alienage, the disturbing realization he'd come to earlier weighing heavily on his mind.

_But a few weeks in the Deep Roads barely seems to scratch the surface of my debt to her. When I think of how, without her, I would even now be on a ship to Minrathous, leashed to Danarius's side… _His thoughts of the bounty hunters and Danarius began to eat at him again.

"I'd rather not be famous, if it's all the same to anyone," Anders said grumpily, filling the silence. "I spend enough time hiding from the Templars as it is. And coin will hardly help with that. They cannot be bribed."

Fenris ignored him, focused as he was on his own dark thoughts. He leaned forward to hunch over his cup in silent anger, frustration, and dismay.

His legs thrust out as he did so, for the dwarven table was a little short for him. His feet slid against Hawke's boots, their legs tangling under the table.

Hawke pressed her hands against the tabletop, looking at him with startled eyes. Her legs shifted, booted calves rubbing against him as she struggled with whether to disengage herself or not.

A sharp, visceral thrill burned up Fenris's legs, and he couldn't decide if it was the lyrium markings, or just the feel of her touch so suddenly and unexpectedly. All thoughts of hunters and Danarius fled, and his thoughts became a confused tangle once more.

Isabela stood then, followed by Merrill, and Fenris had to swiftly pull back to duck an errant swing from Merrill's staff. The absence of Hawke's touch was almost as startling as its presence.

For her part, Hawke sat very still in her chair, hands still pressed against the table. She was looking down slightly, as if she'd paused in the act of looking beneath the table to see what had just occurred.

"Well, if you don't need anything else, I'm going back out to the tavern," Isabela said, bored, and gesturing for Merrill to pick up her barstool. The slip of an elf scooped up the stool happily, then dragged her chair along, too.

"Of course!" Hawke responded, looking up suddenly, as if she'd just been caught at something. "Meeting adjourned!"

She patted herself down, hastily pulling out a small coinpurse. "Drinks on me tonight," she added breathlessly. "Bethany, go find us a table, and buy the first round, will you, please? Whatever anyone likes."

Her sister accepted the coinpurse with a nod, then stood, smiling at Anders. "Shall we go find a table, Anders? I might need your help pushing two of them together."

Anders began to stand, but Hawke cut in.

"Give us a minute," she said apologetically. "I promise, I'll send him right out." She looked around at the rest of her companions, the silent request for privacy clear on her face.

Bethany's smile faded as she looked between Anders and her sister. But she nodded, and followed after Isabela and Merrill.

Varric gathered up his ale and a deck of cards. Fenris gave Hawke a look as he picked up the wine bottle and his cup.

Hawke held his gaze for a few moments, smiling before she looked away.

_Hmm, she probably thinks I was nudging her on purpose. I didn't mean… although… _He put the confusing thought out of his head, regretting drinking his wine so fast.

_But I do not like this private talk with Anders. I suppose this is about the expedition, and perhaps her sister, and nothing to be jealous of. Still…_ Fenris shot Anders a menacing look as he stalked past the man's chair.

Then he paused in the doorway, Varric shuffling past him. "I'll be here if you need me, Hawke," he said, indicating with his head to the taproom. She nodded gratefully, still smiling privately to herself. He gave the back of Anders's chair another withering scowl, then pulled the door shut.

"_Charming_," Anders said tightly, looking back as the door clicked shut.

"I think I liked it better before. When he holed up in his mansion. Or even earlier, when we didn't know he existed." He turned back to Hawke, watching her chew on her bottom lip with a distant smile on her face.

Hawke sighed, releasing her lower lip and rolling her eyes. "Anders…"

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his forehead and looking suddenly exhausted. "Fine. We already talked about him, anyway. No use wasting more breath. So, what's this about, Marian?"

Her eyes flicked to the closed door, inwardly wanting to kiss Fenris for his perceptive discretion.

"I'm not taking Bethany to the Deep Roads," she said, hastily pushing the thought of Fenris's lips on hers from her mind.

Anders's hand froze, and his brown eyes peeked at her from beneath it. "What?"

"You said it yourself," she explained, rubbing at her own forehead. "I can't know what it's like down there. I don't want her dragged into the middle of this."

He sat up, then stood, quickly taking the seat next to her, the one Bethany had recently vacated.

Hawke looked up, following him with troubled eyes as she continued speaking. "If things go badly, I would never forgive myself… and if they go very badly, Mother would be left utterly alone."

As he sat, she looked away, picking up the cork absentmindedly. She began rolling it around on the table with one hand.

Anders leaned in, closing his hand around hers to still her nervous fidgeting. "I understand, Marian. And you're right, it could be disastrous."

She remained quiet, staring at their hands distantly.

"The Deep Roads are… The blight down there…" Anders said, trailing off. He finally shook his head. "To say nothing of the darkspawn themselves, or cave-ins, or any number of misfortunes."

Her hand fidgeted under his, and she finally gave him a stricken look.

He looked at her fondly and squeezed her fingers, adding, "You and your sister are too sweet for such a place. I only wish…" His words died on his lips as he sobered, and paused to search her face.

She gave him a grateful smile. "If we both agree, then that makes this decision easier," she said. "I'm glad Bethany has you looking out for her best interests as well."

Anders's expression froze, and he slid his hand away. "Yes… Of course. Bethany."

He sat back in the chair, looking tired again. "Your sister is lucky to have someone who cares so much about her. For any mage, let alone an apostate, to be so loved…" He trailed off again.

She resumed playing with the wine cork, smiling to herself.

"The depths of your heart never cease to amaze me, Marian. I am… jealous," he added quietly, after a few moments of silence.

Hawke smiled encouragingly, leaning in to squeeze his hand, this time. "Big hearts run in the family," she said teasingly.

Anders gave a weak half-smile, staring straight head.

He finally sniffed, then pulled his hand away to rub at his proud, distinctively Anderfel nose. "Yes, well, I suppose then I'd better have that word with my contacts in the Underground."

She nodded, growing serious. "Anything to make this less risky. She should be fine for a few weeks, but I don't know what I'd do if the templars found her. I've watched over her, almost my whole life, and hers."

Hawke let go of the cork and looked down at her hands, running her thumbs along her short, neat nails. "I wonder how impregnable The Gallows really is. So many templars, but... for my sister, I'd fight the Knight-Commander herself, if I had to. She's only a woman after all." She gave a soft snort. "Listen to me, sounding so arrogant. But… I'd at least have to try _something_. The rumors of the Circle here are worse than what you hear of Ferelden's."

Anders listened silently, but with keen interest, focusing intently on her hands.

Then he shook his head, and his eyes darted away.

"Why not leave, Marian? Go away from this place, somewhere small, with less templars," he said quietly. "You have no reason to stay… no one to tie you here."

Hawke gave a mirthless chuckle, curling her fingers in as she still looked at her hands.

"I spent most of my life running, only to flee at the first sign of something genuine. Then I had to run back, darkspawn at my heels. But it was already gone. So I ran here, to Kirkwall, before I could even think about what had been lost." She opened her hands again, spreading her fingers as if to let something unseen slip through them.

"But now…" Hawke glanced to Fenris's chair, then to the cork on the table. She stared at her hands for a long moment. Finally, she looked up at Anders, shaking her head.

Her eyes were dark, sparkling with unshed tears. "There must be something more, Anders," she said fiercely. "After losing so much, I think… unlikely as it sounds, I might have truly found my place, here, in Kirkwall."

Anders remained very quiet.

She finally shrugged, laughing at herself, and giving a small, embarrassed smile. She looked away to pick the cork back up as she tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes.

She looked back to him after a moment, when he still said nothing. "Isn't that why you fled the Circle? To find somewhere you truly belong? Why do _you_ stay, here, of all places, when you are in constant danger?"

Anders looked away, face growing hard. "I want to. I am compelled… I mean, I feel that I must. I cannot go back to the Wardens, and after seeing the way things are here, now I'm bound by my sense of… well, justice." He gave a resigned shrug, but it did not diminish his serious look.

She chuckled, nudging him playfully in the shoulder. "You and Fenris have more in common than you know, I swear," she said, thinking of Fenris's own resolve to remain in Kirkwall, waiting out Danarius. "But was that Justice, just then, making a _pun_?"

He winced away from her touch. "I'm serious, Marian. We are the same… Justice and me. _Not_ me and _Fenris_. We are nothing alike. I have control, where he does not."

"I'm serious too. You both are principled, and… interesting. I like you both," she replied with a smile. He bristled at that.

She spun the cork, watching it whirl on the table as she teased, "Oh, Anders, lighten up."

He puffed up like a bird, and she laughed, her own mood lightened by the sight of him flustered, out of the corner of her eye.

His face snapped to her with a suddenly angry expression, eyes flashing. "Don't mock me, Hawke. I intend to change things here. I think you are capable of so much…"

She looked up at him, laugh dying on her lips. She was startled, and unattended, the cork rolled off the edge of the table to disappear underneath it.

Anders paused, struggling to regain control over his sudden passion. "… but I never thought you, of all people, would be capable of teasing me like this." He sighed with frustration when she looked down, ashamed.

"I remain in Kirkwall, Marian," he went on tiredly, "because I think I can do some good. _We_ can do some good. We just need to keep at it, keep fighting for the plight of mages."

She squeezed his shoulder companionably, the feathers on his pauldrons sliding through her fingers. "You're very noble, Anders," she said by way of apology.

He looked down as she released him to stand.

"But if I can secure my family's nobility, I plan to lay very low, for a long while. Bethany will be much safer that way."

Anders's hands tightened into fists his lap, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

She noticed his tension when she turned to see if he would follow her into the taproom. Realization flooded through her as she considered their conversation, and she pieced together a reason for his tension.

"If… you were one of the family," she suggested gently, "you'd be protected too, of course."

He looked to the side, opening his eyes only to stare at Fenris's vacant seat, the one he himself had formerly laid claim to.

Her hand was on his other shoulder then, lightly. "Not that I wouldn't look out for you anyway," she added quickly. "There's no rush, and I don't want to pry."

Anders sighed, eyes slipping closed again.

"I will always be happy to help you, Anders," she said softly.

He reached up to pat her hand. When his eyes opened this time, they were distant, and they flashed with just a hint of blue. "As will I, Hawke. You can entrust Bethany's safety to me."

* * *

_She has no idea what she's doing_, Fenris thought wryly as he watched Hawke where she sat, across the table from him, as always.

"No, Hawke, it's heel-toe, heel-toe, kick, spin, toe-heel, toe-heel," Isabela slurred from beside her. "Or, wait… is it? What did I say?"

"Hang on, let me look, while you talk."

Hawke peered seriously under the table, and Fenris quickly folded his own legs under his chair. He lifted his cup of wine as the table began to shake, due to Hawke's seated attempt at learning the jig.

"I think… I think I got it that time. Once more, and then… I'm going to go out there and do it right, I swear," she said, with the utter sincerity of someone quite plastered.

Isabela clapped, goading her on. "That's a good, good girl. Now, concentrate."

"No more making a fool out of Marian Hawke, jig," Hawke sternly threatened, narrowing her eyes at her own feet.

She tried the steps again, with Isabela calling instructions and clapping a beat, now. Hawke's concentration was clear on her face. Fenris could tell she concentrated, because the tip of her tongue poked out of the side of her mouth.

"Nice. Good. Very good. That deserves another brandy," Isabela declared, filling two of the upright cups in front of them.

She ran out of brandy halfway through filling up the second cup, the one in front of herself, so Isabela switched them, leaving Hawke with the half-measure. "… And now we need another bottle," she informed Hawke.

Hawke stuck her hand in the air, waving it broadly. "More Antivan Corff, brandy! Over here!" she called over her shoulder.

Fenris chuckled at her, feeling the warmth of wine himself. Hawke had lost the cork to the bottle, and that left it to him to finish it, as she'd switched to brandy. He did not like to waste things, and he could hardly redecorate the Hanged Man's walls._ Not that anyone would notice more spilled alcohol or broken glass around here, _he thought with another slight chuckle, though suppressing the urge to heave the bottle across the room._  
_

_Hawke and her purse will regret this largess towards Isabela, in the morning. What did she say she was doing, before she was at the bottom of the first bottle? Smoothing things over? I wonder what she said or did to Isabela, that she feels she needs to make amends like this._

Isabela turned back to cheating at a game of cards while waiting for the new bottle of brandy to be delivered.

That left Hawke to focus on Fenris.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, weaving slightly in her seat, and he returned the look.

Then she gave him an exaggerated scowl. He scowled back.

She snickered at that, but she tried to hold it in, to school her face back to a scowl. Fenris's expression did not change a bit.

She was unsuccessful with both her endeavors, and wound up laughing facedown, into the crook of her arm. The sight of her quivering helplessly and snorting with laughter finally cracked Fenris's carefully controlled expression, and he chuckled.

She sat up, leaning far back to look up at the ceiling while she wiped tears from her eyes. "How do you do that, Fenris? I can't seem to keep a straight face," she finally said, looking at him again.

He shrugged, a small smile still playing about his lips as he refilled his cup. "It's a learned skill, Hawke." He went to take a drink of wine, and she hastily picked up her cup of brandy to knock against his own cup.

"To your many _learn-ed_ skills," she toasted grandly and gravely. They both drank, eying each other seriously as they did so.

She managed to keep her composure this time — right up until she tried to swallow.

Fenris successfully gulped a rather large mouthful of wine, then chuckled as he watched her mop droplets of brandy from her chin and chest with her red handkerchief.

She folded and tucked away the square of red cloth. "You don't have pretty eyes," she said conversationally, with a large nod of agreement, ironically.

He raised an eyebrow. "Um… all right," he responded, slightly taken aback.

She took a careful sip of her brandy, and he took a sip of his wine. They'd been keeping up a sporadic, light conversation about trivial things, in between her bouts of dancing and singing pirate songs with Isabela. It had all been teasing, reminiscing about fights they'd fought together, and talking about the weather, until this solemn declaration.

She leaned forward, setting her cup down with focused care. Then her eyes were back on his.

"They are _beautiful_. Like mossy stones, kissed with dew," she said earnestly, very carefully pronouncing each word.

Varric, Isabela and Bethany all snickered. Merrill looked up from her cards, confused. Anders huffed.

Fenris swallowed, though he had already drunk down his mouthful of wine. His whole body felt flushed suddenly, and his mind became muddled. _Is this the drink, or am I embarrassed? Maybe it is… affection — I cannot rightly tell._

"I… see," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral in front of their audience, and in light of his confusion. _She has put some thought into this, _he realized.

She gave him a private smile, looking away bashfully. "I just thought you should know. Isabela got it wrong."

He nodded wordlessly, feeling a little uneasy.

She noticed his discomfort, so added, "And I won't let her pull your eyes out. She has too many necklaces already. I'll duel her, if I have to."

"I'd like that. It would be _so_ much fun," Isabela said amiably, over her shoulder.

Hawke stiffened as she realized she'd been overheard, but Fenris felt himself chuckle as she flushed. It rose to her cheeks very easily when she'd been drinking, he'd noticed.

_Far too easy to read her face like this,_ he mused,_ but I'll not complain, tonight._

"Do you want to dance?" she asked him suddenly, for about the fourth time. "I feel like I need to just… get up and move." She wriggled in her seat, and he raised a wry, but appreciative, eyebrow.

"I told you, Hawke, I do not know how to dance."

"Oh," she responded, yet again, looking crest-fallen, also yet again. "You should learn," she said dejectedly, looking down at her lap.

Fenris sighed, and did not even reply to her comment this time, for she'd said it, before, too. Still, he thought it. _There is no point, Hawke. _

He drained his wine instead. _What good would dancing do me, when I cannot seem to bear even your touch, _he thought bitterly, pouring himself another cup of wine.

"I'll dance with you again, Marian," Anders called from the other end of the table.

Fenris fought down an audible snarl, and an urge to hurl the nearly empty bottle, irritated that the abomination would dare eavesdrop on his private conversation with Hawke.

"Dance with Bethany," Hawke called testily, scowling with an exaggerated eye roll. "Andraste's crispy ass, she's right _there_, Anders."

Bethany giggled at her sister, grabbing Anders's hand. "Come on, Anders. You already tried… um, _dancing_ with Marian. Remember?"

Varric gave a bark of laughter. "Remember? We may all never forget!" He put down his cards and raised his short arms into the air, waving them around carelessly as he jounced in his seat, mimicking Hawke's earlier flailing.

Everyone chuckled or laughed, even Hawke. Merrill began waving her arms around, too, inadvertently showing her cards.

Only Anders sighed. "You can that see she's… otherwise indisposed. Let's go," Bethany urged, tugging at his arm.

"All right…" he said, letting Bethany pull him to his feet.

Fenris shook his head at his wine, not wanting to witness the painful and ungainly sight of an abomination dancing with Hawke's sweet sister again. Once the music had started, and everyone was suitably distracted, he leaned across the table to whisper at Hawke.

"How can you let him near her?" he hissed.

She grinned and leaned in conspiratorially, their faces close now. He held himself rigid to stop from both pulling away, and leaning closer to close the gap between them.

"What?" she whispered, eyes gleaming for gossip.

"_Anders_." He hated even saying the abomination's name. "How can you let him near your sister?" he asked again, more angrily.

Her expression became troubled.

"Everyone deserves to be happy and loved, Fenris. Even Anders," she whispered sadly. Her breath was sweet with the smell of apples, the flavor of Antivan brandy that she'd been imbibing.

He looked down, though he did not pull back. "No matter who they are, what they've done, or who they've killed?" he asked quietly, bitterness flooding his voice. He hoped that she was too drunk, and thought he spoke only of Anders, and not himself, too.

She sobered. "None of us are innocent, Fenris," she said softly. "Not Anders. Not you, or me. Not even Bethany, I'm sorry to say."

He remained silent and still.

"It would be easy to love someone perfect, someone pure and innocent, with no problems to add to your own," she went on, voice hushed as she still spoke only for him to hear.

"I suppose," he muttered, not looking up. He was once again thankful for the shield of his unkempt, white hair that hid his pained expression.

"It just so happens that Hawke women have a history of loving the hard way."

She reached out and carefully brushed a lock of his hair aside, mindful to avoid touching his skin, despite everything.

Fenris closed his eyes, quivering slightly at the feel of his own hair brushing against his forehead and ear. Though she did not touch him, he could feel the heat that radiated from her fingers.

Norah, the serving girl, thumped down a bottle next to Hawke, making her jump. Fenris sat back up, hesitant. Hawke rummaged around in her rapidly depleting coinpurse for enough silver to pay for another of the tavern's priciest bottles of brandy.

As she pressed a sovereign and a handful of silver pieces into Norah's outstretched, impatient hand, she looked back at him and asked, "Would you like to share some, Fenris?"

He shook his head, refusing her offer for about the fifth time. "One of us should keeps our wits about us, Hawke."

She nodded thoughtfully. The sound of music and dancing became rather loud, and she turned in her seat to watch her sister and Anders, clapping along with the other patrons to the song.

Fenris leaned back in his chair distractedly, allowing the moment to slip away.

* * *

Hawke slipped her arms around Fenris's shoulders, arching her back as his arms wound around her waist. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her body suffused with a warmth beyond the heat of his skin against hers.

She could feel his strong pulse at his throat. With her ear pressed against him, she faintly heard the beating of his heart, and the rhythm of his breathing. Her eyes stared out dreamily at the taproom beyond, not really seeing anyone or anything.

"Marian," he said, and she could feel the rumble of it in his chest.

She closed her eyes, swaying with him. "Hmm?"

"The music hasn't started yet."

She held him tighter, closing her eyes. "I don't care."

His chest heaved, and she smiled as another rumble, his laugh this time, traveled through her own body as she clung to him.

Fenris bowed his head slightly, leaning in to smell her hair. "People are starting to stare," he murmured, after taking in the scent of her.

Hawke turned her head away from looking out, to smile against his neck. She planted a soft kiss there, along the side, where the lyrium markings branched. "Let them look," she whispered, glancing up then, to gaze into his green eyes.

He smiled his familiar, crooked smile before leaning down to give her a lingering kiss.

The music started, flute and hand drums playing a familiar, jaunty tune. Reluctantly, she released him, moving to arm's length to dance around him as the luthiers began to play.

The beginning of this song was for the women, and all the men were standing still, appreciatively watching their — and others' — partners.

Hawke easily fell into the dance steps, catching up to the tune despite her slight delay from kissing Fenris. She smiled broadly at him as she planted her hands on her hips, then pointed her toes and kicked up her heels in the brisk dance steps.

He smiled, following her with his eyes as she moved from side to side, gracefully shifting her weight and flourishing her calf-length skirt to best effect. She turned her bared shoulders coyly as she hopped, favoring him with heated glances meant for him alone.

In turn, Fenris pinned her with his piercing gaze, eyes clearly only for her, and no other. He turned his head to follow when she moved around behind him, drinking in the sight of her.

His hands flexed at his sides, and she knew he could not wait much longer for the music to turn, so they could be rejoined.

As if on cue, the flute cut off, and the luthiers strummed one expectant chord. Then, the drummers took over, striking a few hard, pounding beats as the lead lute-player stood, hammering an exciting note at a faster tempo.

Fenris practically lunged for her with an almost predatory smile. Hawke laughed as she gladly went to him, their left hands grasping easily to hold one another's waists as their bodies pressed close. Their right arms both went out gracefully to the side. Fenris held her tight as they began to take sinuous, lively side steps in time to the music

"You are beautiful," he said huskily, and she became keenly aware of how close they pressed together. But she blushed more his words, than at the fact that they moved rather sensuously as one, joined at the hip.

She could feel his strong thighs rubbing against her own legs, nestled between them as they swayed, and she forced herself to concentrate, so she wouldn't step on his bare toes.

After this brief, tantalizing respite of closeness, the song paused once more, preparing to speed up. They moved with practiced grace to circle one another, raising their hands to press as they spun.

The fiddlers began to saw out exciting, climbing notes, and they stalked around one another to the melody, both of them smiling and staring deep into each other's eyes as they touched only with their hands.

As the chords rose higher, they smoothly switched directions and hands, circling the other way, closer this time, all without taking their eyes off one another.

The music climbed higher. Soon, they were pressed so close that they could not use their hands, and merely pressed shoulders together.

Higher, and their arms wrapped around each other's waists again.

Higher still, and they spun together almost as one, Hawke's hand pressed against the side of his face, and his hand wound in her hair.

They were almost close enough to kiss as the music reached a fever pitch, then paused for just a moment.

In the space of a heartbeat, Fenris moved to take her by the hand. It was his turn to back reluctantly away to arm's length this time.

The musicians set to the final part of the song all as one, and Fenris twirled her to the music. First one way, and then the other, each time catching her up in his arms briefly, before spinning her away again.

"We can't… keep this… up, Hawke," he said quietly, in between drawing her in from the first few spins. She could not see his face, but she was smiling like a lovestruck fool for all the world to see.

She laughed, twisting her hips to billow her modest skirt out prettily as she spun. "It's almost over," she whispered breathlessly up at him, the next time she was wrapped in his arms. "Don't forget the dip!" she added, the time after that.

As the song drew to its abrupt close, he spun her fully, catching her up in his arms to face him. She'd closed her eyes to keep from getting dizzy, but she deftly snaked one hand behind his neck, letting her left arm hang elegantly. He tucked his right arm gracefully behind his back, and clung to her with just his muscular, left arm wound securely around her waist.

As the music finished in a sudden burst, she dropped away dramatically, her eyes opening to smile up at Fenris.

But it was Anders, not Fenris there. In her surprise, her hand slipped from behind his neck, and she was falling.

She thought she would hit the floor, but she didn't.

Anders reached out with one hand as if to grab her, but she was already too far gone. He pulled it away as Bethany stepped up beside him, to watch her sister with an inscrutable look on her face.

Hawke felt a strange jolt, and her heart leapt in her chest as her body fell away through the very ground, to fall forever.

* * *

She awoke with a start, sitting halfway up. "No!"

Bethany jumped, throwing herself a few steps back from where she had been pacing, brushing her hair. "Maker's breath!" she said breathlessly, placing a hand over her chest. "Marian, you scared me half to death!"

Hawke looked to her sister, then clutched at her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh, my blighted head. So _dizzy_."

Bethany gave her a flat look. "You'll get no sympathy from me," she said, though she spoke quietly. "You let Isabela buy brandy, remember? The two of you wanted to stay up half the night, drinking and singing. Fenris finally led you home, and I had to sing sea chanties with you to get you to come inside."

Hawke swallowed thickly, remembering now. _That must have been after bottle number four… It seemed rather funny at the time._

"At least… I reconciled with Isabela, then," she said hopefully. "But… I don't know any sea chanties."

"Neither do I," Bethany said, through gritted teeth. "Luckily, we're just down the road, and you followed Fenris like a puppy chasing a stick."

Hawke fell backwards onto her thin mattress, groaning. She searched her memory, but didn't discover anything scandalous. Still, she needed confirmation, though she was half-afraid to find out.

"I didn't… do anything stupid, did I?" she asked timidly.

Bethany went back to brushing her hair. "No, you didn't grab at him or say anything too embarrassing. You went on about his eyes once, rather loudly, and you asked him to dance three or four times, after he'd already told you he didn't know how."

_I remember that. I don't remember him getting angry, though. If he walked us home, that's a good si…_ She suddenly remembered what she'd said to Fenris about love._ Oh, burned Andraste and merciful Maker above._

"Uhng," Hawke moaned weakly.

"You _did_ dance with Anders…" Bethany added. "If you could call that dancing."

"Oh. I… recall," she groaned, closing her eyes against another dizzy spell. Her twirling, odd dream came to mind, making her feel first elated, then a bit sick. "That explains a lot, actually."

"I don't know if you remember, but I danced with him too. _Several_ times," her sister said, a smile in her voice.

"That's so great, Bethany," Hawke croaked, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I'm thrilled, real…" Her words cut off, and she held very still against another wave of dizziness.

Bethany's cool hand pressed over her sister's forehead, and Hawke felt the warm, liquid trickle of healing magic flow through her. The dizziness and dull pounding in her skull went away.

"Sweet Andraste, thank you, sister," Hawke said with a sigh.

"Just don't make a habit of it," her sister warned. "We've just got a lot to do today, so we can't exactly have you groaning and dragging about, like some old vegetable cart."

Hawke rolled out of her bunk, still feeling a bit shaken, for other reasons. "I need to go with Aveline to the Gallows, and then to Hightown," she explained quickly. "It would be better if you stayed here. Or better yet, go spend some time with Anders, help him prepare his clinic."

Bethany frowned. "But I've got to get ready for the expedition."

Hawke waved a dismissive hand. "Pfft, throw a change of clothes, a towel, and some sundries in a pack, and I'm ready. Bartrand will be supplying everything else, and at least one merchant is coming along."

Bethany's brow furrowed. "Will there be other women besides us?"

Hawke paused at that. "Come to think of it, no, I don't recall seeing any women. Just dwarves, and a few hirelings — all men."

"Well, at least we'll have each other. Though I'm rather starting to fret about this, after hearing Anders talk about it last night. You're not taking Ruff, are you? Anders was very depressed about having to give up his cat for the Deep Roads. It sounds dangerous, for animals."

Hawke washed her face, fretting as she thought about Fenris. "No, Ruff stays with y… Mother. Don't even _worry_ about the expedition, really," she said distractedly.

"Enjoy the day. Go see Anders. I plan on going to see Fenris… I'll be in Hightown anyway, after all." _Best not to tell Bethany about what happened. Mother might suspect something, and then I'll get 'The Speech' again._

Bethany moved to the door. "Just _try_ not to fight with him. It seems every other day you two are arguing. So, if you didn't argue last night…" She trailed off meaningfully.

Hawke remained silent at that, looking troubled as she wiped off her face. _I hope we don't fight. That would be something, breaking off a relationship that never began, just to go down into the Deep Roads for a few weeks with each other, always right there. _

_Talk about awkward. I'll need to take extra care today. _

_Maker, I just want him to be happy. Is that so terrible? It shouldn't be this hard.__ Not that I'm not up to the task. _

She recalled again what she'd told Fenris, hinting to him that her mother's legacy of running away with her father meant she herself was more than capable of handling his past, and his present… quirks and all.

"Well, I'll get out of your way," Bethany continued. "I'd rather not be here anyway. Mother keeps fretting about the expedition — she's at the Chantry now, praying for our safety and our souls. I think she intends to see us off, tomorrow."

Hawke paused as she began pulling on her armor. She reluctantly pushed Fenris from her mind.

"Hmm, Mother. Oh dear, I had not thought of that. This might go easier on her if I just leave a note, and sneak off. It was bad enough when she saw Carver and me off to the army." She and Bethany both winced simultaneously at the memory. "I don't want her worked up into that state, not in front of Bartrand. I do have a reputation to maintain…"

The wheels in Hawke's head kept turning, however. _If I pack up and leave now, I can take a room in Hightown tonight. Then, first thing in the morning, I can urge Bartrand to set out, before Bethany even has a chance to get up there. _

_If I leave a charming enough message for her at the Dwarven Merchant Guild, about how it's all been rushed suddenly, and Bartrand's being terribly rude, and that he's counting Varric among my four — which wouldn't really be lies — she might feel better about not having to go. _

_Hmm… Bartrand said he'd be ready whenever I gave the word, and no doubt Fenris will be ready whenever. I can ask Varric to speak discreetly to Anders, and his brother… He owes me anyway. Yes, this sounds like just the scheme._

Bethany nodded. "That's true. Mother does tend to get a little emotional, these days."

Hawke resumed dressing. "Sounds like a plan, then. I'll take a room at The Hanged Man, so don't wait up for me tonight," she fibbed, smiling.

Her smile deepened into a smirk as she added, "And tell Anders 'hello' for me. And anything _else_ you like. Remember, _I_ won't be waiting up for you… I won't be here."

She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, and Bethany blushed. "Marian!" she scolded. But she hurried to gather up her things and go.

Hawke's face went solemn once her sister left, and she began packing for the expedition.

* * *

Fenris sat with Aveline in The Hanged Man, in the same chair and at the same table as he had the night before. Where his wine had been, sat the wooden box containing the evidence they'd found last night in the foundry.

"You're sure she'll come here, Fenris?" Aveline asked, for about the fifth time. The red-haired guardswoman looked impatient, and quite out of place sitting in the morning light of the empty tavern.

Fenris shifted languidly in his seat, glancing at the box. "Hawke will realize she did not take this home," he explained confidently, again. "She will come here first to get it, Aveline."

Aveline sighed, uncrossing her arms to drum her fingers on the table. She stared at the Hanged Man's door. "Well, I'm glad I ran into you on the street, then. Waiting at the docks would be even more tedious. But I think the smell here might be worse. I wish Varric was awake, so we could sit in his suite. I don't know what he _does_ to need this much sleep…"

Fenris waited quietly and patiently, back to the door. He had let Aveline take the seat with the best view of the entrance — he knew she had a warrior's instinct to keep an eye on it. He was usually the same, but relented this time, since he could use his ears to listen for Hawke's arrival.

_I'd recognize the sound of her, even if this room was full again. Besides, she will come whether I look at the door or not. _He paused, realizing he'd left Hawke the better seat last night as well. _My chair still had the best view_, he decided.

He was still a little surprised to find himself here this morning, waiting for her. _After last night… _he sighed, feeling oddly nervous. _So much has happened, so fast. I do not know what to make of it all. But…_

But the nightmares had not come last night, despite his disturbing encounter with the desire demon, the other grim discoveries in the foundry, his brooding over Danarius, or even Hawke's unintentional near-confession.

When he finally made it back to his mansion last night, he'd not struggled against fantasizing about her. Almost as a reward, sleep had been swift in coming, peaceful, dreamless, and deep. He'd rested well, and awoken feeling quite good.

_Perhaps I am growing accustomed to spending time with her,_ he thought with a small measure of hope. _Perhaps, in time, we could…_

"Why didn't we just go to her uncle's house, again?" Aveline asked, for about the third time.

Fenris smiled inwardly, remembering Hawke plodding behind him last night, draped over Bethany, then singing goodnight to him from her home's landing.

"She will need a little extra time this morning, I'd imagine."

"Hmm," Aveline said, looking quite disapproving. "That's exactly why I went back to the barracks. I knew you'd all get rowdy, celebrating before the expedition. I didn't want to have to arrest anyone and spoil the fun."

_I suppose it was… fun,_ he realized._ We talked of nothing important, but perhaps that is best, for now. Hawke certainly enjoyed herself, last night. And I actually rather enjoyed watching her_.

_Except when Anders dragged her out to dance. That mage never can pass up an opportunity to take some advantage. At least Hawke decided to 'try something new,' instead of letting him put his hands on her._

He chuckled to himself as he remembered her first attempt at the jig Isabela had spoken of, wearing her close-fitting, yet still heavy and thick leather armor. _She never did get back up to take a second stab at it_, he realized. _She rather gave up on the idea, after I turned her down again._

His smile faded. _If only I knew how to dance… She seemed very eager, and she made it look quite enjoyable. But… I don't know if we even could._

_Though obviously I have more grace in my big toe than Anders has in his whole demon-infested body. _He tried not to grimace at the thought of the apostate.

_Still,_ he mused, deciding to put Anders out of his mind,_ it might be worth practicing alone. Some of the moves could easily be adapted into fighting techniques. With my lyrium talent, I could use a few more close-quarter styles._

He was still convincing himself of the virtues of learning to dance, when the door banged open. Even before Aveline stood, he could tell it was Hawke by the sound of her armor, and her footfalls.

"Aveline?" she asked, slightly confused. "I thought we were to meet at the docks. Did you come to wait here, then? Sorry, I'm running late, I had to pack, and write a few letters…" She spoke in a rush, and sounded as though she were straining with something.

Fenris turned slightly in his chair, curious about why she was so flustered, and what she was carrying.

Her explanation trailed off as she noticed him.

"Fenris." Her expression and tone were both guarded, but the breathlessness when she said his name was obviously not from the strain of carrying a pack.

It made his cheeks flush.

"Hawke," he replied, turning back around in his seat to cover his reaction. He stared down at his hands, grateful that his face was hidden behind his hair. Then he remembered her words last night, and the way she had tenderly brushed his hair aside.

_To think that she wants me. To feel her touch…_ He stared at his gloved fingers._ But no, we can't. Despite what she said, she knows nothing about me, about who and what I really am. I barely know, myself._

_No doubt it was just the brandy, again. She did not mean it the way it came out. _

He dared not hope that her words had simply been the truth uninhibited, or that they would be repeated, like her declaration of needing him had been._ I do not wish to be disappointed. I do not think I could bear more pain. I should not hope. I must not.  
_

She came over and set her half-full pack down at her feet, then gripped the back of the chair at the end of the tavern table. She addressed him without looking at him.

"I'm sorry if I did anything untoward last night. I got a bit carried away. I told myself I'd never let Isabela get me to drink brandy again…"

"Why am I not surprised to hear of her influence in this?" Aveline said with a resigned sigh. She shook her head.

Fenris waved a dismissive hand without looking up. "Nothing to apologize for," he said. Inwardly, he was glad his voice sounded unconcerned. _Best to push this away, make light of it. It will go easier if I think of it as folly._

He decided to look at her. "At least when you compliment me on my eyes," he said seriously, "you don't threaten to pull them out."

Hawke blushed, and she tried to laugh it off, pretending to be unconcerned. "Oh. Well, you know… I barely even remember what I said."

Even as his heart fell, he forced himself to raise one black eyebrow. "Does 'mossy stones, kissed with dew' ring any bells?"

Her flush deepened, and she rubbed at her neck, not meeting his eyes. "Ah… yes, that does sound familiar, actually," she replied hesitantly.

He grew silent, not wanting to consider the possible reasons for her embarrassment and hesitation.

Aveline shifted, clearing her throat. "I hate to interrupt the continuation of what sounds like a _lovely_ evening, but we really must get going. I cannot spend all day cavorting around with you two, again."

"Of course," Hawke said. "Just let me have a quick word with Varric, and grab my journal from his room. I don't want to leave it here. Bethany might come across it and find out what I've been up to… and that I've had my mind made up about it for a while."

She shouldered her pack and moved towards the stairs, but Aveline blocked her, holding out a hand. "Wait, Hawke. You mean to say you still haven't told your sister? Why are you putting this off?"

Fenris studied Hawke's profile from his seat. _She is planning something. She looks too blank, which means she is nervous._

"I don't want her to think I'm coddling her. It'll be better if she thinks I was forced to leave without her," she explained to the guardswoman.

"Hawke…" Aveline shook her head ruefully, short, red ponytail swinging.

"Please, Aveline," Hawke said quietly. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Bethany is very sweet and capable, but she doubts herself. I would not want to add to that needlessly, if there is another way."

The red-haired woman was silent for a moment. Finally, she sighed. "I take your point. Sometimes, it is better if the people who need protection don't know they have it. Some will not accept it, and then, they get hurt."

"Exactly," Hawke nodded.

That made Fenris think back to the night he'd followed Hawke home, unseen. _I suppose I can understand that._

"Aveline," she continued hesitantly. "If… I give my journal to you, would you keep it in the barracks for me, until I return? I don't want to take it into the Deep Roads and risk losing it, though I will miss having it for so long."

She fidgeted with her pack strap, adding with a chuckle, "Don't tell Varric I said that, by the way. It would cost me a small fortune in drinks, and last night was bad enough."

Aveline shook her head. "I'm sorry, Hawke. You know I'm always happy to help, but I'm afraid nothing stays secret in the barracks for long. I won't have the office of Guard Captain for at least another two weeks, and I do not want your private thoughts being read aloud, while I'm out on patrol."

The guardswoman's lips pressed into a thin line, and she added in a mutter, "You'd think there'd be more honor among the guard. Well, I mean to change things, and that will be one of the first."

"I see," Hawke said, deflating a little. "Well, I still need to claim it from Varric's bookshelf. Along with the… oh, Maker, but I was supposed to take that with me! Did I? I hope I didn't lose it."

She looked panicked, and patted frantically at herself for a few moments, before realizing that was pointless.

Fenris casually slid the wooden box over to her on the table. "Looking for something?"

She looked at the box, then at him, relief flooding her face. "Thank the Maker, Fenris, you have it. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He kept his expression serious. "Forget boxes and lose your way home, singing sea chanties all the while, I'd imagine."

She gripped the back of the chair tightly, swallowing. "It seems I happen like doing things hard way, yes. Runs in the family," she said quietly. She barely met his eyes, and gave him a hesitant, shy smile — rare for her, since she usually smiled quite unreservedly. Between her words and her expression, he took her meaning.

He felt his pulse leap, and his earlier doubts and hesitations fled.

_To taste those shy, hesitant lips… _he thought, heart beginning to pound.

She lowered her eyes bashfully, picking up the box. "I can't believe I forgot this. Well, I guess I can believe it… But, still, I can't believe you remembered it, Fenris. This wasn't your responsibility."

He stood, looking away to calm himself. He covered by pushing his chair back into place, and he tried to sound unconcerned.

"I have a very good memory, and I owe you much. I would not fail you. Besides, it is just a box."

After he finished speaking, he risked a glance. Their eyes met again, and he was once more struck by the clear tenderness in her eyes. The weight of its meaning was not lost on him either, now.

"You did say that you needed me," he added.

It came out much more seriously than he'd intended. Instead of it sounding like another instance of teasing her, his words came out rather ardent.

Hawke took in a short breath. Fenris observed it several ways — hearing the rush of her drawing it in, seeing her eyes widen, noting it in the sudden rise of her chest, and feeling as though his entire body was drawn towards her.

His heart began to strain again in his chest.

"I'll just… wait outside," Aveline said slowly, glancing back and forth between them.

At her interruption, the moment burst and their gazes broke apart, both Hawke and Fenris looking away.

Still, Aveline quietly picked up her helmet, and left.

On her way out the door, Fenris could hear her muttering, "Two days in a row. I'm going straight back to the barracks, after this. Maker, I hope I never act this foolish over a man…"

He glanced at Hawke, who was fidgeting nervously with the box. In her restlessness, she went to slide the lid open. Then, she stiffened, seeming to remember what the gruesome contents were. It reminded him, too, and he thought of the desire demon.

The last of the heated tension fled.

"We'd better get going. I just need to have a quick chat with Varric, and grab my journal. We don't want to miss the next ferry to the Gallows."

"Yes," he said, curling his hands to keep from trying to recapture the lost moment.

"And Ghyslain de Carrac deserves to know of his wife's fate," she added quietly.

Fenris nodded wordlessly, and his hands went slack. He left to wait outside with Aveline.

* * *

"I couldn't bring back your wife, but here's a ring," Hawke informed Ghyslain, handing the ring over. "It looks pricey," she added with a nervous laugh.

Fenris could see her grimace when Ghyslain's face fell.

"Ah… Ninette's wedding ring," the older Orlesian nobleman said quietly. "Yes. Look at the engraving. 'Forever faithful, forever yours.'"

Hawke looked down sadly, then, to the side, at Fenris.

He stood by observing solemnly, though he wanted to shift the weight of her pack on his shoulder. But he remained still, out of deference to Ghyslain's grief.

The red-bearded man shook his head. "Written in happier times. Where did you find it?"

Hawke opened her mouth, then hesitated. She waved a hand, shaking her head. "Just know that she will not return," she explained quietly.

Ghyslain nodded once, sighing as his shoulders slumped. "It's better this way. Our marriage has been in shambles for more than a decade." He curled his hand around the ring, a matching band on his own finger, still.

Fenris felt his fingers twitch slightly as he remembered removing the ring from the severed hand. Ninette's fingers had been cold, swollen, and rigid as stone. He did not want to do it, but more, he'd not wanted Hawke to have to do it. Emeric had promised to take the box to the Chantry, to have its contents properly burned.

"I'll send the ring to her family. With luck, it will appease them," the nobleman said, pulling a gold sovereign from a pocket and handing it to Hawke. "Thank you for all your help, serah. Maker watch over you."

Hawke reluctantly took the coin, nodding to Ghyslain de Carrac and giving him one last sympathetic look.

Fenris followed as she led him down and away from the balcony, over to a lone tree that grew in the middle of the market square. She sank onto a stone bench, leaning over to prop her elbows on her knees and place her face in her hands.

"Maker, I do not like delivering bad news," she sighed, rubbing at her face. "No wonder Aveline went straight to the Keep. Bad enough having to inform Emeric that his suspicions are correct, without having to explain to someone's husband how you came by his wife's wedding ring, but no… _mostly_ no body."

He carefully pulled her pack free from his spiky pauldron, then set it down on the bench next to her.

"You did well," he said gently. "It is over, and Aveline will likely get to the bottom of it before we return from the Deep Roads."

She nodded distantly, staring at the ground.

Feeling eyes watching him, Fenris glanced around the square. A few stall-keepers, and more than a few nobles, were eying him. He looked away, feeling suddenly very out of place. He sat down on the bench with Hawke, her bundle between them.

"I still need to go tell Jethann. He deserves to know, after leading us to Emeric," she said. She looked over at Fenris. "Thanks for coming with me. You didn't need to do this."

The corners of his lips curved upwards slightly. "I enjoy following you."

One of her cheeks dimpled as she gave him a half-smile. "Oh, really?" she teased. "Even though I'm about to drag you back to The Blooming Rose, up to see _Jethann_?" She pronounced the elf whore's name with mock breathlessness, but it was nothing close to the tone in her voice this morning when she'd greeted him.

He shrugged, still smiling as he leaned back on the bench, unconcerned. "As long as it's only a brief talk," he said lightly.

He looked out over the market, recognizing the stall across the way, the proprietor being the man with whom Hawke now co-owned the Bone Pit mine.

Fenris's smile became a little wider as he remembered how Hawke had celebrated that night, too, after they'd defeated a dragon together. _I should see if there is any brandy at the mansion. It is quite the truth serum for her._

"It… won't be just a brief talk," she said slowly.

His smile vanished as he turned his head to look at her. He rubbed hastily at his ear as one of the flowering vines growing on a trellis behind the bench tickled it.

"What do you mean?" he asked darkly, yanking free the irritating bit of plant.

She sighed, letting her hands hang limply as she remained leaned forward. "I didn't want to speak of it in front of Aveline, so she won't have to lie to Bethany on my behalf. But, my plan is for us to leave on the expedition at dawn. Bethany thinks I'm going to be staying at The Hanged Man, so I can avoid having some watery goodbye scene with Mother."

Fenris's brow furrowed, and he clutched the piece of vine a little tighter. "And what does this have to do with the brothel?" he prompted angrily.

"I'm not going to be staying at The Hanged Man. Bethany will go there in the morning, thinking to find me. By the time she realizes I was never there, and makes it all the way up to Hightown, we will already be outside of Kirkwall. I'll leave a messenger for her at the Dwarven Merchants Guild, with a note explaining what happened. Sort of."

She shook her head, then gave a tired wave to Hubert, her partner in the mine, when he noticed her and hailed her from his stall.

"That hardly explains where _Jethann_ comes into this," Fenris said disgustedly, pushing himself to his feet and turning his back to her. He crossed his arms and glowered, despite the resumption of stares from the nobles, some of whom seem to have heard what he said.

From their muttering, Jethann was apparently known by name. It made Fenris feel even more sick.

Hawke sat up, startled, looking at his back. "What? Oh, no! No, Fenris, no."

She began to laugh, but he could find very little humor in her plans for her last evening in Kirkwall. He tensed, ready to stalk away.

"I was talking about taking a private room at the Rose. An _empty_ one. After I tell Jethann about Ninette. There's not many other places in Hightown I can afford, and Bethany would never go look for me there," she explained.

He was quiet for a moment.

"Ah. I see." He uncrossed his arms, then turned to face her.

"You should not stay in such a vile place, Hawke," he said angrily, venting off his dark mood. "Bad enough that we have to go back to that disgusting den of iniquity, to say nothing of you sleeping in one of the… rooms, there." He still felt sick, but it was at the thought of her alone in such a place, all night, overhearing things, and laying in some foul, sagging bed.

She glanced up at him, smiling. "I didn't know you felt that strongly about… it," she said, pausing only a heartbeat, but looking away, expression going blank.

He looked to the side too, noticing her hesitation. Then he made up his mind, before he could second-guess himself.

"Stay with me." He said it easily, though his voice came out a little deeper than he'd intended.

She remained very quiet, and he felt a frustrating mix of emotions course through him at her hesitation, and his rash boldness.

"My squalid mansion is your squalid mansion," he finally added, trying to lighten the tone of his offer by repeating what he'd told her the first time she'd come to visit.

She blushed anyway, looking down. She wound up staring at his hand, the pink of her cheeks going even deeper. "Fenris, I…" She couldn't speak further.

He looked at his hand, the one he'd grabbed the irritating plant with. The bit of vine had come away from the trellis with a flower attached. It was white, with a yellow center.

Fenris hastily put the flower on top of her travel sack, the short length of leafy vine tearing away where it had caught in his gloves.

"It makes sense, Hawke. No need to waste your coin, or subject yourself to all that noise all night long. You can have my bed," he explained, trying to sound practical. "I'll sleep on the floor. May as well get used to it again, for the expedition." He tried to look nonchalant and unconcerned, and he studiously ignored the flower.

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in it…" she said quietly, after considering for a long moment. "I cannot argue with your logic. And I was hoping to take you up on your offer of a bath, anyway."

He shifted his weight, pretending to scan the market without a care in the world. He tried to calm the sudden nervousness in his stomach when he heard her acceptance.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked softly.

He gave her a startled look. "Um… what?"

Her eyelashes fluttered prettily as she looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. "To repay you for letting me stay. Do something nice for… that is, perform some serv… blast." She hid her face as she pretended to fuss with her hair. "Buy something for you, or… something. You know what I mean."

He chuckled nervously, placing a hand over his knotted stomach. "Ah. Hmm… I guess you can… cook dinner," he said, thinking first of his stomach.

"Oh, of course. Yes." She nodded quickly, eager to agree to something innocuous.

He glanced down, looking at the flower, then focusing instead on her travel bag. Another thought occurred to him.

"I could also use a pack, I suppose." He indicated with his head to her own. "I don't have much to take with me, but I'd rather not carry it around bundled in one of Danarius's old curtains." His mouth made a flat line at the thought of his former master, and his nervousness about the awkward situation at hand abated.

She picked up the flower, then ran her other hand thoughtfully over her travel sack.

"A fair trade," she said with a smile, standing. "A pack, and dinner, in exchange for a bed, and bath. You have a deal."

She shouldered her pack, holding out her hand, with the flower still in it, to forestall him when he moved to take the bundle from her.

"No need. You'll have your own to carry in a minute. I happen to know Jean Luc's stall, over there, has just what we're looking for." She indicated over her shoulder with a thumb, at a small stall behind her.

Fenris glanced around her at it, and by the time he looked back at her, she'd already tucked the flower behind her ear.

He could not stop the corner of his mouth ticking up at the sight of her so ornamented. Still, he chided, "No one will take you for a serious adventurer, with flowers in your hair, Hawke."

She laughed, then said, "Maybe I'd rather be thought of as a woman, first, and a serious adventurer, second." She smirked at him, but grew embarrassed again as he just stared.

She looked away, and pretended to shift her bundle. The movement jostled her enough that the flower began to droop.

He felt his pulse spike again, at the sight of her flushed cheeks and lowered eyes.

"Anyone who couldn't see that, Hawke, is either blind, or a fool." Fenris reached out a hand and gently tucked the flower back into place, taking pains not to catch her hair in his segmented, clawed gloves.

She held very still, looking down bashfully as he reluctantly pulled his hand away.

He memorized the feel of her hair brushing against his fingers and his palm. Then he looked at her in profile, and was not surprised to see her chewing on her bottom lip.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Of course," he said, curling his hands to keep from trying to capture her face so he could look at her fully.

She turned away, not meeting his eyes. "Let's take care of that pack, and get this business with Jethann over with."

He nodded wordlessly, and his hands went slack. But he followed her, then caught up, and remained at her side.

* * *

**29 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon**

Yesterday did indeed prove to be a busy day. I am pleased to report things went well with the Arishok, thanks in no small part to Fenris's advice. And I'm also signed onto the expedition, no thanks to Varric's prevarication.

Hmm, it is amusing that Varric's name is practically imbedded in a word that means 'deliberately creating a false impression.' Apt, too, as he neglected to tell me that he hadn't even mentioned his scheme of partnering up with me to his brother. I could have beat him even more senseless than he already is. That is very easy to do with a heavy purse holding fifty sovereigns. He is lucky that Anders's maps did the trick of convincing his brother.

Still, I mustn't complain. We leave for the Deep Roads, first thing tomorrow.

We did somewhat solve the mystery of the missing noblewoman, Ninette, too — after speaking with her husband, her favorite male elf whore, and a templar who was investigating other missing women.

It was a rather interesting string of leads, looking back.

I'm afraid that Ninette, and the other missing women, are all most likely dead. No one may ever find out for sure how many others there are, or how, when and why they died, but it seems clear that Ninette and a missing mage from the Circle, at least, are lost.

We tracked the mage, Mharen, and Ninette, both, to a foundry in Lowtown. There was a man there, another mage. But he summoned a number of demons, and he got away before we could defeat them all. I did not get a good look at him.

Fenris was nearly knocked out by a desire demon, but I managed to kill her. He seemed rather shaken by the ordeal, but he does not want to talk about it. I am trying to do as he said yesterday, to take care around him, but it is difficult.

Maybe, given time and patience… well, one can hope. He already seems to be opening up, some, but even so, I feel that I am walking a very fine line. I fear I might have said something slightly telling yesterday. He seems to have taken it in stride, but I really don't want to rush in and scare him away. It would break my heart if he were to leave and go on the run again, alone, all to avoid me.

But I am getting distracted.

We searched the foundry for a good hour, but could not find any further sign of the mage, beyond the gruesome evidence of Ninette and Mharen's demise, which he'd left behind. The foundry was quite dark, and there were so many side rooms and passages, filled with crates, boxes and barrels. Anyone remotely familiar with the place would have been able to evade us, I fear. Whether the mage hid, or fled is anyone's guess. Still, we tried.

Ser Emeric, the templar who first suspected the disappearances were linked, is still on the case. Now that he has proof of his suspicions, Aveline has promised that he will have the support of the guard. I also informed both Ninette's husband and her favorite lover that she is gone. It really is out of my hands… No, best not to think of hands.

Moving along, the meeting with everyone at The Hanged Man went well, I guess. Aveline did not join us, but I spoke with her before she left. She, Isabela, and, I suppose, Merrill, seemed pleased with the monetary arrangements.

Oddly, Fenris and Anders don't seem to care a whit about their cut. I know it will help both of them, though if the money isn't why they're coming, then I wonder about their sanity a little. Perhaps they are just caught up in their own concerns about the expedition, and are putting on a brave face in front of me, because I'm a woman. Or maybe they just dislike one another that much, and that is all they can think of. Who can tell with men?

Still, I can only imagine what sorts of clashes they are bound to get into down there. I guess I will deal with it when the times (plural) come.

I have resolved not to tell Bethany that she cannot accompany us. I am taking the clever, but cowardly, way out. I am sneaking off.

It will be easier this way, because Mother would likely make a scene anyway. I really cannot expect to earn any measure of respect from Bartrand and his crew, if I'm crushing my sister's spirit while my mum is alternately plucking at my armor, and warning me against "living dangerously."

I _cannot_ let her give that 'heavy womb' speech in front of Fenris. I think I would die.

Speaking of living dangerously, I am coincidentally and scandalously writing from Fenris's mansion, where I plan to spend the night. I had intended to take a small room at the Rose, but he wouldn't hear of it. I don't quite know what to make of his invitation, but I will play it safe, behave myself, and assume this is strictly a practical, friendly sort of invite.

It will go hard, taking a bath here and sleeping in his bed. I must put all thoughts of ulterior motives and lingering feelings out of my head.

I have resolved not to drink anything but water, too. Between the Agreggio he graciously shared with me yesterday, and the vast quantities of brandy I must have used to smooth things over with Isabela last night, I've used up my quota of uninhibited activities for the month.

Although, it _is_ almost a new month.

But on a serious note, I care too much about Fenris to treat this lightly. He has suffered much in his life, and the last thing he needs is something flippant or off-handed. I intend to be here for him, because he's been there for me ever since I met him.

Well, a few misunderstandings and rough patches notwithstanding.

Still, if anyone deserves a measure of my forbearance, it is he. He has very little, but what he has, he shares with me. I find that I respect and admire him a great deal, and I think he is incredibly brave and capable. He is something unique, rare and special, and I am terribly fond of him.

He is also hungry, and I should go finish cooking him dinner. Although, it occurs to me, if I had ended on that last bit, it would make a very dramatic last testament to my feelings for him, should the worst befall one, or both of us on the expedition.

Oh well, I guess we will just have to come back alive, so I can continue writing about him, no?


	29. Interlude: Living

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews of the last chapter. Believe it or not, I struggled with writing it, so I was nervous about its reception. I really wanted to nail it for you, dear readers, and I'm glad if my efforts paid off.

The response was a huge shot of confidence, right in the ol' typing arm. I adore you all for reading. That you take the time to review is delicious icing. I really do appreciate it. I cannot thank you all enough — so instead, I will keep writing, and hope to repay your kindness that way.

It also seems that everyone loves the big chapters, which is absolutely fine by me! I like them too, so we'll stick with what works.

With that, on to today's mega-offering! Recommended music is 'Fenris Theme' from the DA2 soundtrack. BioWare owns all, but Maker, I wish they'd have put more Fenris in…

* * *

"Take your time, Fenris," Hawke said, pausing to smile up at him. "I don't want you to hurt yourself." Fenris made a noise of acknowledgement but kept his head down, eyes firmly ahead. He did not slow down. If anything, he went a little faster, so he could get out of there, before she became suspicious about his skills… or lack thereof.

Fenris was diligently seeing to the task of drawing Hawke a bath. He'd busied himself carrying pails of hot water to the bathing tub while she wrote, as it gave him an excellent excuse not to show any interest in what she was writing in her journal. When she'd said she needed to pen her thoughts, he'd unlocked the steward's office to let her go rummage for ink and a quill, then had stayed well away from her and her written words, as much as possible. Once out of Hawke's sight, he took his time, returning more slowly with two full pails of water from the pump. Then he sat near the fireplace and waited impatiently for the water to warm up. When the pails began to steam, he'd rush them into the bathing chamber to dump them out and repeat the whole process again.

_Perhaps I should have dragged the tub in here… _he thought, glancing about his room and massaging his palms. _But no, that would be too much. There is a screen around here somewhere, but even if I waited elsewhere in the mansion or went for a walk, I'd never have a peaceful night's sleep in my room again._ He glanced over to the table, where Hawke sat scribbling away. _I hope she finishes with her writing soon_, he thought nervously._ This… tension I feel — it is unpleasant. _He tried to remain still, so as not to call attention to himself, but the urge to pace was strong, and he kept shifting on the bench.

Just as wisps of steam began to curl above the pails, Hawke sat back in her chair, making a thoughtful noise. Fenris attended to the water immediately, careful to keep his back to her, and his movements smooth, and natural._ What will I say if she asks me to read over it and give my opinion? Or what if she asks how to spell a word? I can hardly act natural by backing my way out of the room, pretending not to hear her…_

"I love this pen, Fenris. It's very fine," she said as he hurriedly bent to retrieve the pair of pails from the fireplace. "I'll wager it is one of your favorites. No wonder it was on the top of your um… pile." _He seems to like a bit of a mess,_ she thought, thinking of the wrecked desk in the next room.

Fenris kept his head bowed when he turned carrying the steaming water, but he risked a peek at her through the hair that hung in his eyes. She was leaning back in her chair, marveling at the sharp, steel tip affixed to the fancy quill. The large feather brushed against her face as she spun it, and he couldn't help but stare at her lips as the red wisps of plumage swept across them. He noticed, with less enjoyment, that her journal was still open, sitting just in front of her on the table.

He curled his hands tighter around the warm, heavy wooden pail handles and headed for the door. He didn't need to grip them quite so hard, but his discomfort was making him edgy. Once he was safely past her journal, he replied, "You may have it."

She twisted in her chair to regard him as he left the room. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes," he called over his shoulder, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. He carefully shifted the weighty pails in his hands as he walked. "I have no use for a quill," he muttered to himself.

"Thank you! You're spoiling me today, you know?" she yelled after him, her voice echoing through the cavernous mansion. "It's even my favorite color. Don't see many fancy, red quills at my price range." She paused but heard no acknowledgement, only the slight clatter of the metal pails. "The ink's very nice, too. Rich, and… inky. Not that I'm trying to take all of your writing things — I'm sure you need them. It's just a compliment."

Fenris rolled his eyes in exasperation as he dumped the water into the halfway filled tub. "Take anything you want from the desk, Hawke. In fact, take it all," he called back. "If it belongs to Danarius, then I am pleased to see it gone. You will save me the trouble of burning it." He moved to the pump to refill the buckets.

"Ah," she called loudly, over the squeak of the pump handle. "Well, I am leaving my journal here, but I may just take you up on that, when we return." She fell silent after that, and Fenris strained his ears for the sound of the quill scratching against paper. When he heard her moving around instead, he cautiously headed back to his room.

To his relief, Hawke's journal was closed when he came back in, and she was over by the fireplace. She was tending to two large potatoes that were roasting in a heavy iron pot nestled into the coals, poking at them with a long, two-pronged fork. There was also a pair of small game hens roasting on a spit.

Hawke had decided to cook him dinner in the fireplace, after he'd shown her the poor state of the mansion's actual kitchen. The smell of food was another reason for his restlessness — the delicious scents filling his room were driving him mad. His stomach gurgled as he set the buckets on either side of the fire logs to heat. Hawke heard it, chuckling and smiling to herself.

"Shall I take that as an early compliment, or a demand to hurry up?" she teased.

He pretended to consider it seriously, then answered, "Hmm. Both."

She laughed at his mock-threatening tone. "It will take as long as it takes, Fenris. You know these things can't be rushed." Still, she made a show of turning the spit a quarter turn, as if to mollify him.

"I don't do much cooking," he said with a shrug before returning to his spot on the bench. His stomach gurgled again, and he rubbed at it. "_Will_ it be much longer?"

His gnawing hunger was beginning to put him in mind of darker days, when Hadriana would purposely waylay him on his way to the slaves' galley. _No. I refuse to think of the things that bitch wanted me to do in order to have my meals in peace. Half the time she'd tell them not to feed me, anyway. If I ever get my hands on her, I'll gladly feed her… her own black heart, extra rare._

Hawke crouched near the fire to add more logs, not seeing his troubled expression, with her eyes focused on the task of cooking. "Will it be much longer," she repeated with an feigned, exasperated sigh. "That depends. Will drawing my bath take much longer? A deal's a deal, after all." She looked at him and smirked, inclining her head at one of the water pails.

The sight of Hawke's upraised eyebrow, twinkling eyes, and pouty smile helped banish Fenris's thoughts of Hadriana. He gladly allowed her to chase away his unpleasant memories and engage him in easy banter.

"Unless you are planning to make a stew of yourself," he responded dryly, "I don't see what your bath has to do with dinner being ready."

Hawke laughed again, shaking her head. "It's the wrong time of year for stew, but have me back around Wintermarch, and I'll see what I can do."

Fantasies of Hawke seasoned with flower petals and sweet herbs in the bath rose unbidden to Fenris's mind, and his thoughts became an odd, but pleasant, jumble. _This is all so confusing. I want to flatter her, but I cannot focus, not even on our banter. I am pleased to have her here, but I am so… nervous. I do not usually get nervous. It is… unnerving._ He rubbed his rather sweaty palms against his leggings.

She finished fiddling with the food, then brushed off her hands and stood. He tried not to watch her, since he had realized, not long after they had arrived, that he far too much relished the sight of her in his empty mansion. _The evening is young yet, and she is bound to notice my staring if I do not control myself._ He turned back to the fire, but discovered that gazing at the roasting chickens had a much more profound physical effect on him. He surrendered and helplessly followed Hawke with his eyes as she went to the table. His mouth first went dry, then began to water as he watched her butter a slice of bread, only to bring it over to him.

_She is an incredible woman_, he decided as he devoured the thick, butter-slathered hunk of fresh, brown bread.

"Will this be enough food?" she asked with a laugh, noticing the contented look on his face. She still stood before him; it had taken him mere seconds to wolf down her offering. "That's your third piece of bread, Fenris."

He shrugged, wiping at his mouth, then brushing his tunic off. "I mostly eat at night. Things I can easily grab." She nodded in understanding, knowing for herself the kinds of foods he'd asked to have sent to him, since she had helped order them. "This?" he said, indicating the food cooking in the fire. "This will seem like a feast compared to a plate of cheese, cold meat, and fruit."

She gave him a smile. "Well, I'm glad. I still think I am getting the better end of this deal, but I'll not compla…" Her eyes grew wide, and she cursed, "Oh, Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks!"

He raised one dark brow, but she waved him off as she pinched at the bridge of her nose. "I know, I'm sorry. Terribly unrefined of me. But I don't know any of your Tevinter swears."

He chuckled. "What is the matter?"

"I utterly forgot to cancel your deliveries! And come to think of it, I should send a note to Varric, saying I'm here, instead of… well." She gave him a careful look, but he did not react to the near-mention of the brothel. _He was very eager to get out of there, this afternoon. And the look he gave poor Jethann when he asked if I'd finally come to avail myself of his services..._

Fenris kept his face blank as nervousness crept back upon him. _Not more writing… I hope she does not ask me to help her draft these messages. _His eyes darted to the water pails, and he decided to pretend to scald his hands if it came down to it.

Thinking of the brothel led Hawke to think about sex, which put her in mind of another matter she had not attended to. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Maker, and that reminds me, too…"

Fenris waited to hear what else she'd left undone, but she cut off, looking away. "Nevermind. It's not your concern. I just need to order… something."

Sensing the time for action, he stood and went over to the pails. "I will keep filling the bath, then. All the blank paper is in the next room. And there is sealing wax in the office. Take whatever you need." He gestured hastily, then made a show of pretending the pails were hot, even though they weren't yet.

She cocked her head at him as he carried the not-quite steaming buckets towards the door. "The paper isn't in the desk, too, with the wax?"

He did not look back at her, but his voice conveyed the wry smile that was on his face. "Most things of Danarius's I burn, but I can make other use of his pricey paper."

She blinked at his back for a moment, puzzled. Then, she took his meaning and clutched at her stomach. "Oh, Fenris!" she giggled. "You don't! Andraste's pert… that just might be the funniest revenge I have ever heard of!" He left her to her amusement, taking his time carrying and pouring out the buckets, trying not to spill as he chuckled himself.

Hawke walked into the bath chamber as he was emptying the second pail. She was still laughing softly. "Ohh, it's steamy in here," she said breathlessly, fanning herself from both the steam, and the exhaustion of laughter. She walked over to the cupboard that held the chamberpots, and began to snicker again as she pulled several sheets of expensive paper from a thick, haphazard stack that sat on the top. "I cannot believe you," she said, grinning back at him.

He turned to her with the empty pails, shrugging and keeping his face unconcerned. "I'm a practical man, Hawke."

She shook her head at him, though she looked highly amused, and her eyes danced. She felt one of the pieces of paper between thumb and forefinger. "This must cost at least ten silver a sheet!"

He gave her a deep, sly smile. "Ah, but to me it is priceless." She placed a hand over her mouth to stifle another fit of laughter. It filled the bath chamber like silver bells, then began to tinkle through the rest of mansion too, as she moved to the doorway. _Her laugh is priceless,_ Fenris decided, with a surprising measure of fondness.

"Will I have enough time to write my letters?" she asked, still chuckling as she paused on her way out of the door.

"One more trip, Hawke. So it depends on how fast you write. And cook." He fixed her with an expectant look.

"No meddling with the chef, Fenris," she scolded fondly. "Dinner will be done when it is done, and no sooner." She went up on tiptoe and peered into the deep tub from the doorway. She looked back at him, suitably impressed. "But you're terribly efficient at this! I spill water everywhere when I carry buckets, so it takes me forever to fill a tub. And I either burn my hands, or wind up in rather tepid water."

He turned to the pump as he pushed away memories of the countless times he'd had to help carry buckets for Danarius's bath, then stand guard while the magister bathed — often with one or more 'attendants' to 'help' him. _No. I am no longer a slave. That is long past. I do it for my own pleasure now — and Hawke's. I am no man's property. Not anymore._

"Baths, I know," he said hesitantly. "But cooking…" He managed a shrug as he pumped. "I've eaten as many burned potatoes as undercooked ones." Hawke chuckled from the doorway, and he felt the corner of his mouth quirk up as his thoughts of Danarius retreated. "It would seem our skills complement one another," he added, glancing over his shoulder to where she leaned against the doorway, watching him. The smile he received from her made the confession of his lackluster culinary skills more than worth it.

"We make a fine team," she agreed with a nod.

And then Hawke was gone, off to fetch sealing wax, and Fenris felt suddenly alone. Without her to distract him from his memories, his mood darkened again. It was as though all the light had gone out of the room, and out of him.

_Bad enough, thinking of Hadriana earlier. But now, wrinkly old Danarius, cavorting in his bath?_ he thought disgustedly, turning back to fill the second pail._ At least I am no longer hungry._

_When will I ever be rid of these hateful thoughts? The memories of my time as a slave fester so close to the surface, ready to drag me under at every opportunity. How can I be a free man if my mind keeps returning there? This always happens, especially around Hawke. I do not know what I was thinking when I asked her to stay. It was foolish. She is reckless, and should have more care around me. _Even as he thought it, he knew it was more foolish to blame her.

He sullenly carried the full buckets out of the bathing chamber, but he stopped short when he noticed Hawke standing under the torch by the room across the landing. She was leafing through a leather portfolio etched with Danarius's familiar runes, and her face was full of concern.

"What are you doing?" he asked angrily, setting the pails down so hard they sloshed. His feet slapped wetly against the floor as he stalked over to her.

"I just… came across it in one of the drawers, when I looking for wax," she explained. "The runes looked familiar, so I thought it might be important…" He grabbed the sheaf of papers from her unresisting hand, though he wasn't fully clear why he was upset.

She clasped her hands together, clutching a small melting pan and a stick of red wax. "… But obviously, you already have seen it," she finished quietly. "I'm sorry, Fenris, I was just worried when I realized what it was."

_It shouldn't matter if she sees these, but… I just don't want questions,_ he thought with irritation, and panicked once again about exposing his illiteracy._ There's no use in her looking at them anyway. _A small part of him reasoned that there would be no harm in it, but he could not help but scowl at her.

"It… looked to me, from those sea passage receipts, that Danarius won't be coming back for some time." She regarded him carefully. "If he comes back at all. You said before, he might give up, if it costs him more than he's willing to pay. It was an expensive trip home."

Fenris's grip tightened involuntarily on the leather folder. He looked down and wound up gazing at his own white knuckles. "He will come back," he growled. "And the sooner, the better."

She tried to see his face. "Fenris, it would take at least seven weeks to sail straight from here to Minrathous. It could just as easily take twice that long, maybe more. With the south summer winds, bad storms, and if he took a ship that also stops to trade…" He shook his head disbelievingly, but she continued. "A round trip doubles it. Then hiring more hunters, sending spies to see if you're still here, arranging things discreetly since he knows you're not alone, that you'll be waiting? That would be several more months."

He said nothing.

She wished she could tilt his face up to look into his eyes. "Fenris. It could be over a year before he can even manage to come back to Kirkwall."

Fenris could feel his fingernails gouging deep marks into the leather. "I'll be ready," he said bitterly, "no matter how long it takes."

"As will I, Fenris."

He glanced at her, and he saw that she was serious. It made some of the anger go out of him, and he unclenched his hand a little. "I told you before that I would not turn your help aside."

Hawke gave him a small smile, moving a little closer. "You shall have it. Though, no doubt, you can handle him. What did you say? 'He is but a man…'"

Fenris chuckled quietly at her attempt to imitate his voice, and at her faith in him — but mostly at the thought of a panicked, sweat-soaked Danarius begging futilely for his life. Looking back down at his hands, he envisioned the day he would have them around the magister's wrinkled neck.

"It would cost him a fortune to come back. But if he persists, it will cost him his life." She gestured to the leather portfolio, and her voice grew gentle. "In the meantime… you should consider living, instead of just waiting, Fenris. A year is a long time."

He did not look at her face, but she there was such concern and tenderness in her voice that her suggestion did not anger him. It had before; she'd suggested something similar the first night she'd come to visit. Then, she had been a beautiful, enchanting stranger. In the weeks since, she had quickly become something… more. Putting down roots and living his life still felt like an impossibility, however. Only, now, he had some idea of what he was missing.

_I wish I could, Hawke,_ he thought, growing morose. _But how can I hope to live freely, even for a year? I cannot spend a few hours alone with you, without some foul memory being innocently brushed upon. I have been both hunted and haunted for three years. It seems likely it will be the same for another three, then another, and another… Even with you here, I still feel alone. _

_I have never needed or wanted anyone — now, I do not know if it would change anything. Sometimes, it seems only to make it worse._

She tenderly brushed a lock of his hair aside again, and he felt a small, unbidden sigh escape his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, growing confused as his dark thoughts were driven back by his newfound feelings — feelings that he still mistrusted.

"I… will think about it, Hawke."

"Do. You deserve some happiness." Hawke had to force her hand to stay at her side when Fenris did not respond, remaining silent with his head bowed and eyes still shut._ I just want to take his hand and make him realize that he isn't alone. But all I can do for him right now is be here.  
_

"We can look into this after the expedition," she offered. He quivered a little, so she quickly clarified, adding, "Danarius's whereabouts, I mean." He gave a nod, and she silently slid the leather portfolio from his hands and returned it to the desk drawer. He returned to the pails and carried them over to the fire.

After their exchange on the landing, they wound up on opposite sides of his room again, Hawke writing her letters at the table, while Fenris leaned against the mantlepiece watching the fire, occasionally turning the spit. The mansion was silent except for the crackle of the fire, the occasional sizzle of grease, and the scratching of Hawke's quill.

"I will check to see if it the food's done before I take a bath," she said, finally setting aside a letter to the grocer who coordinated Fenris's deliveries. "If it is, there's no need for you to wait for dinner on my account, when you're hungry and I'm the guest."

_My stomach is a tangle of knots,_ he thought, leaning his head heavily against his arm._ With everything that has happened, with how I feel, to say nothing of the idea of you undressing and sleeping here, in my mansion. Dinner can wait._ He went back to pondering whether he was just mad, or a merely a fool when it came to her.

He did not speak, so after a few minutes of worrying about him, Hawke let him be and turned to drafting a short message to Varric, explaining the change in her lodgings. _Hopefully Varric will not read anything into this,_ she thought. She experienced a tiny thrill, nevertheless, at the new developments in her relationship with Fenris._ Varric doesn't need to know about that, but he does need to know where I am, in case there is any change in the plan. _She worded the quick note as innocuously as possible.

Then, after glancing at Fenris and seeing that his back was still turned, she hastily scribbled a request to Lady Elegant. _I really do not want to go down into the Deep Roads for several weeks without some moon herbs. _She grimaced as she dipped her quill, remembering Anders's all too keen observation of her behavior the night Fenris had found out about Justice. _And I was embarrassed just to have my mental stress noticed. No, I need to do something about this._

_With no one else but men along, I seriously doubt the merchant, Bodahn, will have anything like this to purchase. Luckily, I know Elegant does. The least she owes me is one short-notice request. It should not be difficult for her to send a runner directly back with what I need. _She stole another look at Fenris, checking to make sure he still was across the room. Then she quickly estimated the number of weeks they'd be gone.

_If I was taking Bethany with me, she could just use magic to… stop things for a while. And I'd really, __**really**__ rather not have to confide in Anders. So, it will have to be the traditional way. _Just the thought of having Anders tutting over her made her feel terribly uncomfortable. _To say nothing of Fenris. Things are awkward enough between us already. Not that we're not both adults._

Still, she hastily fanned the letter, hunching over it as Fenris began picking the pails up. She scrabbled to fold it before he walked past and got close enough to read it. She needn't have bothered, however, for he kept his head down as he neared.

"Your bath is nearly ready, Hawke," he informed her reluctantly on his way past. "Do you need… more time, or… anything?"

"Oh, no, just need to address and seal these, and then I'm ready," she said quickly, clutching her note to Elegant to her chest. He nodded and headed out of the room, rather slowly, compared to his earlier speed. She watched him until he disappeared around the corner.

Once he was safely out of sight, Hawke nervously turned back to her letters and nearly held the quill over the candle. She caught herself and thrust a small pan holding half a block of sealing wax over the flame instead. She simultaneously addressed the envelopes with her right hand._ Maker, why am I so nervous? We've been in how many battles together. We've argued over so many things. I just stood there, laughing away with him in his bathroom, of all places. Then I inadvertently raided his private documents, only to touch his hair again! _Just thinking of her boldness set her to gnawing on her lower lip. _But the idea of him realizing that I'm writing a letter to an herbalist, about a perfectly natural thing, makes me utterly unnerved?_ She sighed to herself._ Men have it far, far too easy. It's we women adventurers who are truly courageous._

She carefully poured out three blobs of wax, one onto each securely folded note, then waited a few seconds before flattening them with her thumb. She used the steel nib of the quill to quickly draw the intricate but familiar Hawke family crest into the seals.

The sound of clattering pails came from the next room over, and she practically ran to fire to check the doneness of the food before Fenris returned._ Now it is bath time. I'll be in there, thinking about him. Sitting in his tub. Where he's sat… _She nearly stabbed her own hand picking up the long fork in haste to check the potatoes._ Why am I rushing about like this? Maker, what is the use in a relaxing bath if I'm going to work myself into a knot before I even get in it?_ She could hear the splash of Fenris running his hand through the water to test its temperature, and she nearly knocked the spit over. _Focus, Marian! You still need to get your belongings, and payment for the messages._

Seeing that the food still had at least an hour to cook yet, she walked briskly over to where her bag lay on Fenris's bed. She opened her travel sack to retrieve enough coin for a messenger to go to Lowtown and back, eying the door nervously as her hand quested for her coin purse._ Elegant knows I'm good for it. She'll put the herbs on my tab. Besides, I don't want to have to explain to Fenris what the extra money is for. _

Fenris came into the room then, angling his way to the fire without looking at her. She froze in the act of rummaging, then resumed when she glanced over her shoulder and saw he'd taken up his post at the hearth again, back to her. He was leaning even more heavily on his arm than before.

_He looks more out of sorts than I feel. Why did I accept his invitation again?_ She patted herself down, looking for her coin pouch._ The bath, I agreed to after the Agreggio. Maybe there was still some brandy left in me this afternoon, too. It seemed like a logical idea at the time, but now I feel decidedly anything but. He hardly seems thrilled with the arrangement either, though it's hard to tell with him being so inscrutable all the time. Maybe talking about Danarius has got him brooding again._

"Could I trouble you to take my letters to one of the messenger stands? I'd do it myself after my bath, but one is rather urgent. The one for… uh, Varric…" she explained lamely, trailing off. _Not that staying at the Rose wouldn't be awkward, but it would at least be a more bearable sort of awkward. _She felt around on her belt, then removed it to search for her wayward coin purse.

"As you wish," Fenris agreed hastily, glancing at her, then away again when he noticed her undressing. He stared firmly at the fireplace. _She isn't… is she? _He tried desperately to remember where he'd seen a screen in the mansions many rooms, but his mind was suddenly uncooperative.

_Andraste knows, _Hawke thought, locating her coin purse,_ I've spent a few nights 'not without company,' but it was never as nerve-wracking as this! And nothing is even going to happen! Except me taking a bath, and then taking delivery of perfectly ordinary medicinal herbs! _She dug quickly for some copper and a silver, then tossed her belt aside, fisting the coins for the messenger in her hand.

"Thank you. I appreciate it," she responded automatically, unbuckling her boots. _I'll just leave the money and wait to get into the bath until I hear he's gone. May as well take these off while his back is turned._

"And take your time in the um…" He made a mute gesture that she could not see with her back turned, indicating the room next door. _Perhaps she will take the hint and head to the bathing chamber._

"Oh," she said, pulling off a boot. "Yes. Thank you." She hopped as she removed the other one, armor jingling. She quickly grabbed her pack. _This bath will be easier if he's out at the messenger stand at first. I just... need to get him out of here for a while,_ she said, steeling herself._ Otherwise I'll probably stand there, paralyzed, unable to remove my clothes, knowing he's right on the other side of the wall._

Fenris panicked at the sound of her armor and rustling, deciding he should make himself scarce. Immediately.

"I'll just…" they both said simultaneously. She took several quick steps toward the table clutching her travel sack to her chest, just as Fenris hurried to go retrieve her letters, hair carefully shielding his eyes. They both sped up, seeing the other, then warily circled one another until Hawke's back was to the door, and Fenris was pinned against the back of the chair she had been sitting in earlier.

His eyes went to her bare legs, then looked aside, locking onto the table. _I need to get out of here._ "I'll go to Lowtown myself," he suggested quickly. "I could use a long walk. It will save you the…"

_I can't let him go to Elegant with this,_ she thought, growing frantic._ He'll know, and she'll think it's for us, him and me, and then it'll be all over Lowtown, and Mother will give us both the speech when we get back!_ "No need!" she interrupted, stepping forward. He froze in the act of reaching for the stack of folded papers. "That is to say, uh, no, because… you have come right back, to turn the spit." She gave a strained chuckle.

"Ah." He gathered up the notes, eyes hidden. "Yes."

She padded sideways across the cool, broken tiled floor and deposited the money on the end of the table. "That should be sufficient. And… tell the runner he'll be bringing something back."

Fenris stood stiffly, waiting for her to go before reaching over to take the coin. "Very well."

Hawke edged her way out of the room, holding her travel sack like a shield. "Just turn the food every quarter hour or so. Sorry it's taking so long, but over an open fire…" she said from the door. "But it should be very tender, when it's finally done. If you're hungry, have more bread. Or even your strawberry tart, if you wish." She bit her lip, realizing she was rambling on.

He closed his eyes to avoid glancing at the two, individual, strawberry-laden desserts she'd insisted on treating them to. _Perhaps I should, _he thought._ I should eat them both, to save myself the tribulation of watching her eat hers later. This is difficult enough already._

_Perhaps the food will distract him from noticing who the letters are addressed to, _she hoped._ But if he does ask me what I needed from Lady Elegant, I'll just tell him I have a rash or something_.

"We're all adults here. What's the point of being grown-ups if we can't eat dessert before dinner once in a while, right?" She chuckled nervously again, trailing off when he didn't respond. "Ahem. Anyway, I won't be long."

_Neither will I, apparently,_ he thought, stomach knotting again. He gathered everything up and went to retrieve his sword from the far corner. "Take your time, Hawke," he said with resignation, not looking back at her. "I didn't carry all that water just for you to splash about for five minutes."

"Right. Well. Thanks again." She edged out onto the landing. "I'll just… see you in a bit, then!"

Fenris felt his cheeks flush, though he knew she'd meant it innocently. Still, he waited in the corner of the room to hear the door latch before he quickly fled out the front door. Hawke also waited, only stripping and sinking down in the tub once she heard the front door slam.

She sat tensely in the hot water for several minutes, clinging to the side of the tub and thinking more about Fenris than if he'd just remained. Fenris, too, stood hesitating in front of the mansion, imagining much more of Hawke than he'd just seen. After a few minutes of staring at their respective doors, the chantry bells rang. The tolling of the bells, accompanied by a cacophony of dogs barking, finally broke them of their tense thoughts, reminding them that the night was slipping away.

* * *

It was nearly an hour before Hawke returned with damp hair, pink-flushed skin, and wrinkled fingers and toes. A very distracting, pace-inducing amount of time, by Fenris's measure, full of occasional splashing noises and the sound of her sighing and humming.

Not pacing any longer, Fenris instead sat stiffly on the bench, where he'd nervously perched since hearing her exit the tub. _I nearly wore a hole in my gaiters from pacing before I took them off, _he thought, rubbing his feet together nervously._ Doubtless there are a few more loose tiles now. Not that anyone would notice, with the state of this place…_ He glanced up when she walked into the room, then looked away as she deposited her bag and armor in a heap near her boots, at the foot of his bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to look contemplative while also making it harder for himself to stare at her.

As Fenris glanced at his own fully-bare feet, found himself examining her smaller ones out of the corner of his eye. He'd very rarely seen her out of her boots, but he'd been increasingly thinking about her bare feet ever since their under-the-table interactions. She quietly walked past him to crouch near the fire again, apparently taking note of his broody posture and giving him his space. Once her back was mostly turned, his eyes were drawn from where she balanced on the balls of her feet, upwards.

He stared at all of her, never having seen her in the soft, grey shirt, or matching grey pants that came down to her calves. The shirt was cut in a modest V and had long sleeves, and the pants were a comfortable fit, but the sight of Hawke in something considerably thinner and lighter than leather armor was as distracting as if another woman had walked in wearing nothing but a shift.

_This will be a very long expedition,_ he decided. Then, he smelled her. _She is using a different soap. It smells… very good. Faint, but intriguing. _He gripped the edge of the bench to keep from going over to sniff her. _A very, very long expedition._

She noticed that he stirred. "That was _so_ relaxing," she purred, moving languidly to check on their dinner. All of her earlier nervousness seemed to have been washed away in the bath. "You might come to regret me finding out about your tub, Fenris. You may not be able to get rid of me."

"I…" He hesitated, coming entirely too close to admitting a number of things, the least of which was that seeing her like this, so beautiful and contented, was something he could never regret. "I will have my bath after dinner," he said, instead. "Nothing like soaking on a full stomach."

She smiled to herself, poking at a large potato and wiggling one of the hen's drumsticks. "Then you might want to get back to hauling buckets. Dinner will be ready soon."

He sighed loudly, venting off some of his frustration, before muttering, "Festis bei umo canavarum." _Too true in many ways. But I could use a distraction, about now._

Her brows drew down as she looked at him. "But, I'm not wearing armor." She remembered the last time he'd muttered that Arcanum phrase. It had been hard to forget that embarrassing, unintentional display. Fenris paused, regarding her blankly. She chuckled, now eying him curiously. "Unless that means something else?"

He rolled his eyes, explaining with mock severity, "It means you are working me to death. I starve, woman." _She is lucky our food isn't cinders. I kept forgetting about it with… everything._

She rolled her eyes too. "You could have indulged in a tart and satisfied yourself. I gave my permission." That made his cheeks flush again, for several reasons. He looked away with a shrug to hide it.

"Soon, I promise," she said with a laugh, shaking her head. "Maker, I'm hungry too, you know. It's not my fault the kitchen is full of rust and spiderwebs."

He sighed heavily, getting to his feet. "I don't like to clean _or_ cook. I'm afraid the kitchen is a lost cause."

"Very well," she said placatingly. "Just making you aware that I'm doing my best for you, given the circumstances."

He resumed his pail duties, inhaling her new scent deeply when he went in to pump water. _It is… intoxicating. Wholesome. Complex. Familiar. Like… berries, drizzled with cream and honey. Like Hawke herself. _He took another deep breath, relaxing a little more.

"You are using a new soap," he said casually when he brought the pails over to the fireplace. She had built the fire up again for his bathwater. She'd also lowered the chickens on the spit, crisping them over the briskly burning flames. The potatoes were already steaming on two plates on the table.

She gave him a startled glance. "Oh. Yes. Is it that strong? I wanted to get something fancy for a change, but I didn't want it to be overpowering." She sniffed at her own wrist, then looked embarrassed. "I thought the expedition would be a good time to start using it. No doubt it will just remind all the men that I'm a woman. They'll think I'm some silly thing, in over my head, along for… frilly giggles."

She went on muttering about men, proving herself, and cursing her foolish impulse shopping. "Taking Orlesian soap into the Deep Roads… It sounds pretty stupid just saying it. I'll buy something else on our way out of Kirkwall. Or maybe Bodahn will…"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "I just have a good nose." She waved him off, still muttering to herself. As nonchalantly as possible, he added, "I like it. It suits you." He turned away from the fire, feeling suddenly too warm, retreating to the safety of his favorite chair at the end of the table.

Her hand paused in turning the spit. "Oh." She looked down, smiling to herself, then slowly resumed crisping the chickens.

Fenris nervously tapped his fingers against his leg, trying to think of a less personal, more comfortable topic. He cast his eyes around the room, then at the table. His gaze fell on the pair of cups Hawke had set out. "Should I get some wine? I don't usually drink white, but there is bound to be some in the cellar."

Her back stiffened, hand pausing again. "No need. Not for me, anyway," she said nervously. "Feel free to drink whatever you wish, of course, but I think I'll stick to water." Her hand resumed turning, rather faster than before.

He took note of her jitteriness and could not help but tease her. "Not even some of the Agreggio? You seemed to… enjoy it."

She glanced up at the nearly empty bottle still sitting on the mantel above her. He could just make out the hint of a flush on her cheeks, but it could have been from her bath, or being so near the fire. Possibly. Remotely.

"Thank you, but not tonight. It's a very good wine, but oddly… strong."

_Probably for the best, _he thought. _But… _He felt a surprising twinge of disappointment. He shifted in his seat, putting temptation out of his mind, deciding to rib her instead. "It would be much easier to get you to bed, at least." Her whole body tensed, and he suddenly realized the double meaning to his words. "Unlike leading you home last night," he quickly added. "Your sister enlisted my help."

She chuckled uncomfortably, relaxing very little. "Sorry. I… do remember that. That's why I'm sticking to water." Inwardly, they now both deeply craved a drink. Fenris's fingers drummed frantically against his leg. Hawke sighed heavily. "And we have a busy day tomorrow. Dawn comes so early these days. Maker, I hate getting up early…"

Reminded of their plans for leaving in the morning, Fenris glanced at his new, packed travel bag. He'd never owned one before, nor felt the lack. He'd never had much that needed carrying; he still didn't. It was only half full, containing a change of tunic and leggings, his small sewing kit, a few whetstones, a handful of toiletries, and a pair of black, silk shirts to wear to bed. "I could bring a bottle with us," he offered, not really knowing why he was so insistent. "And another bottle or two of our usual wine."

She laughed nervously again, then quickly reached for some towels before pulling the skewer free from the spit. "It's tempting… but I might do or say something stupid, and get us all killed down there." Fenris picked up a platter and quickly crossed the room, stooping to let her slide the done hens onto it. She shrugged as she used the fork to push them onto the plate. "If you want to, I guess. It's your wine, after all." She kept her eyes on what she was doing, though she was keenly aware of how close he was. "But don't put yourself out on my account. I don't want you lugging clinking, sloshing bottles all under the Deep Roads, just for me."

He quietly inhaled as he leaned near her, relaxing as the comforting new scent of her mingled with the savory scents of the food. "It would be for both of us. Something familiar to share in a dark, strange, dangerous place."

She paused. "Oh. Yes. Of course. That would be… nice." He smiled when she glanced up at him.

"Then it is settled," he said gently. She smiled, but lowered her eyes, growing bashful. Fenris felt his pulse beginning to race, so quietly carried their food to the table when she turned away to set down the empty skewer.

She soon followed behind, but she picked up the pitcher of water before sitting. "Will you be having wine, then?" she asked, pausing after filling her own cup.

He shook his head as he slid the larger of the two small game hens onto her plate. "There is some wisdom in your decision. I… drank rather a lot of wine last night, myself."

Hawke chuckled, pouring water into his cup before setting aside the pitcher. She switched their plates. "You take the larger one. And I'm sorry about losing the cork. And for leaving you to finish the wine all by yourself. And for the brandy, and any ridiculous things I did." She sank into her chair, looking sheepish, as she passed him a knife, fork and napkin.

He looked askance to mask his own sheepishness, wiping his greasy fingers on the napkin before he resumed tearing into the chicken in a more refined manner. "Think nothing of it. You had every reason to… celebrate." She made a self-deprecating snort as she carefully cut her food up. "Besides… I enjoyed myself," he admitted.

Her hands paused and she glanced over at him, smiling. He was bending over his plate, taking a bite of juicy chicken — an awkwardly large, odd-shaped bite. But he eagerly stuffed it into his mouth, eyes closed as he chewed. Her smile deepened when he groaned softly. "Enjoying yourself tonight, too?" she asked, turning her attention back to her own plate. He nodded wordlessly, eyes still closed. She chuckled. "You can use your fingers if you want, Fenris. Your table, your rules. And I take it as a compliment, seeing my cooking utterly ravaged."

His fork clattered to the table, and he used his left hand to hold the hen while his right hand expertly dismembered it with the knife. She laughed, glancing over to watch his progress. "I see you're as good with small blades as you are with enormous ones."

He shrugged, rather intent on his quarry. "Another learned skill, Hawke. One that I do not get to practice often enough."

She watched him with amusement while she chewed. "It's a shame that we haven't yet had a chance to spar. When we get back from the Deep Roads, I do mean to practice with you. I really need to brush up my own skills. Right now, I specialize in leaving anyone wielding a two-handed weapon to you."

He dredged a piece of potato through the meat's juices, groaning contentedly again while he chewed on it. "Hmm. Well, you should be aware that I have decided to charge you for my lessons." Fenris pointed at his plate with his knife and fork, then set about sawing at his meat again while he eyed her expectantly.

Hawke pretended to weigh the suggestion, slanting her eyes at him. "Hmm… I don't know, Fenris. You might learn a thing or two from me, after all. Are we even likely work up an appetite?" His knife nearly skittered off his plate, and he had to look away to retrieve a piece of chicken from the table. She picked up her cup and raised it to her lips, trying not to smirk.

He leaned over his plate towards her, giving her a devilish half-smile as he waited until she started to take a drink. "You don't know the half of it." She nearly choked, and he barely managed not to chuckle since that had rather been his objective. _I relish flustering her. It is only fair, since she does it to me so often. _

His mood often improved when he ate, as it was usually the only time as a slave when he'd had a moment's peace — except for Hadriana's occasional meddling. _She is no Hadriana. I refuse to sour Hawke's fine meal with thoughts of that bitch. _Fenris turned his mind fully to the present.

Hawke set her cup down and tried to hide her flushed cheeks behind her napkin while she dabbed at her mouth. Then she ducked her head to pull over the plate of bread and butter. She thoroughly enjoyed their verbal sparing, and wanted to tease him back and cause him to splutter, but she forced herself not to. _I need to be careful,_ she warned herself._ I promised myself that I wouldn't rush things. I don't want this to get out of hand, and wind up with him upset with me before the expedition's even begun. I am his guest, after all._

"Make sure to eat your fill," she said instead, rather breathlessly. "We should finish as much as possible, so as not to waste perfectly good food."_  
_

Fenris admired her for a moment before turning back to his plate, growing serious. "That will not be a problem. It is very good. Thank you." _It might be the best meal I've ever had — delicious, comforting, satisfying. Free, too, and I didn't even have to steal it. Or cook._ He paused._ I hope I won't have to clean up the dishes. Hawke will probably not approve of me throwing them out of the window like I usually do. Her ears are not as keen, and cannot appreciate the subtle symphony of breaking Danarius's fine china against the courtyard flagstones._

They ate in silence for a time while she recovered her composure. "It seems you really have been working on your flattery," she finally said, rather carefully, before biting into a small drumstick.

_Have I? _He raised a startled eyebrow as he tore free a hunk of bread, searching for a witty response. "Working with you has challenged me in many ways, Hawke."

She took a moment to absorb that, growing even more cautious as she filled in the meaning. "Above all, your patience, I imagine."

Fenris couldn't help but chuckle as he sopped up bits of juice and meat with his bread. His mood was lighter than he could ever remember. "Certainly." He resumed destroying his chicken. _It has been an unusual few weeks, since I met her — so many new people, strange places, odd tasks… to say nothing of our misunderstandings, differing stances on magic, and this strange… thing between us. It has been quite a change from the past three years of running, and being alone._

Hawke did not laugh, however. In fact, she remained pointedly silent, eyes fixed on her plate, expression hidden. _He agreed to that rather fast. _She felt her stomach sink. _This is why I can't get carried away. I try his patience so often. I must remember to have a care.  
_

Oblivious, Fenris continued to eat with gusto. _Good food, a bath to look forward to, and a beautiful woman. All that's missing is a bottle of wine, and it could be quite the memorable evening… _He glanced at Hawke, pondering if he should make one last attempt at offering to open another bottle of the Agreggio — or two.

His budding temptation was snuffed when he saw the too-blank look on her face and the listless way she poked at her food. _I wonder if something's the matter. _He looked at her plate. _Perhaps she is already full. _He looked at his plate. _Perhaps I am making a mess, and it is putting her off._ He glanced down and saw no food dropped on or around himself, but he wiped his face and hands with his napkin just in case. Hawke just continued pushing food around, making an uncharacteristic mess of her plate. Puzzled but cautious, he decided it best to leave her to eat in peace.

After a few minutes more, the weight of her silence slowly dragged him to a stop again. He looked at her, more closely this time, and saw that she seemed to be hunching over her plate even further. She had perhaps taken two bites in all that time, and she was sullenly mashing her potato, rather than eating it. He quietly reflected on when her mood had turned, and realized it must have been his confirmation that his patience had been tested frequently since they'd met. _I suppose she has not forgotten our earlier disagreements, either. _

He could easily recall them all, having brooded over them thoroughly. _Discovering Anders is a mage. That her sister is a mage. Her releasing that mage boy to the Dalish. Learning that Dalish witch is a bloodmage. Hearing that Anders is an abomination. _Fenris's mouth flattened into a thin line, recalling all the barbs he and Hawke had traded over that last instance, with Anders watching on like a vulture. He glanced down at his left hand, flexing it as he remembered the shock on her face when he'd grabbed her.

_I am sensing a theme here,_ he thought, mood quickly souring._ But it is hardly surprising. What doesn't magic ruin? It has taken my past from me, and my future. Why should tonight be different? Why should my relationship with Hawke be any different? _For some reason, the word 'relationship' felt subtly altered to him when he applied it to Hawke, even as he thought it. It made his stomach squeeze, and his appetite abruptly fled, too.

Between the changes in her mood and his, his earlier edginess returned, ten-fold. _Why did I ask her here? What was I thinking?_ he thought, growing frustrated and anxious._ I wasn't thinking. Neither was she. She should just tell her sister, and then she could stay at her own home._ _Again, magic spoils everything._ His whole body tensed, as if ready to spring into action. _I need a drink. Or a walk. Or to run. _

Resolved to do anything other than just sit there, brooding, Fenris set his fork down heavily and tossed his napkin onto the table. Before he could stand, however, Hawke stood. It surprised him, and he suddenly felt a pang of alarm that she might leave instead.

"Hawke, I…" he said hoarsely, wondering at the slight tone of pleading in his own voice.

"Your bathwater is boiling," she explained, face already turned away. "I'll get it."

He glanced to the fireplace and finally noticed the roiling clouds of steam, and the slight clatter of one of the pails rocking as the water fully boiled within. _How did I not notice that before? _He stood. "Let me. You need to eat. You haven't had nearly enough."

She shook her head, already bent down to retrieve the towels. She wrapped one around each pail handle, carefully lifting them. Billows of steam shaded her downturned face even further as she slowly made her way from the room, nearly silent in her soft clothing and bare feet.

He wanted to go to her, to help her, but he was afraid she'd wind up scalding herself trying to deflect him. _She has stolen my avoidance tactic, _he thought wryly, even as he tried to figure out a way to salvage the evening. His earlier edginess had vanished, leaving a troubled ache behind. He glanced down at his plate, noticing that he'd almost entirely finished his meal, though his stomach wasn't very full. _Hmm… _He sat back down and set about cleaning his plate, leaving only a haphazard pile of chicken bones. Then he slid Hawke's plate closer and waited to spring his trap.

She returned a few minutes later, walking very carefully, trying not to spill. Fenris made a show of being caught in the act of stealing her other drumstick. "I'm sorry," he said genuinely.

She glanced over at him. "For what?"

He pointedly set the drumstick back down before she could turn away. "You did say not to waste food, but I should have waited to ask if you were finished. I could not. It is no excuse, but it was just… too delicious." He tried to look remorseful as he sucked chicken grease from his thumb and forefinger. "I apologize."

Hawke rolled her eyes, but she smiled before turning away to head to the fireplace. "Flatterer." He leaned against the table, watching her with a keen feeling of satisfaction. She still sighed as she nudged the pails into place, but the sigh had a tone of fond resignation. "Go on, then. But leave me a little, at least. And don't stuff yourself. Save room for dessert."

"Of course." He decided he really would steal her drumstick, and he took half of her now-mashed potato as well. _And some bread. And perhaps this thigh. And a wing. Must not waste,_ he thought as he happily stuffed himself. Hawke returned to the table and quickly finished what he'd left of her dinner, looking decidedly more cheerful.

"I intend to buy you breakfast, too," she said after a while. "Perhaps a few hand pies? We could find a stand and buy a few of each kind. Take some with us, for the road. They travel well."

"Sounds… tempting," he said slowly, eyes flicking to the tarts as he cleaned his plate again. His appetite had returned, and now he craved something sweeter. Talk of pies for breakfast reminded him of dessert, but whether he eyed the strawberry pastries expectantly or nervously was a mystery, even to him.

She chuckled at his apparent suspicion. "There are no fish pies, Fenris," she teased. "No fish for breakfast, or otherwise. I do remember."

He cringed, making a face. "Yes, no fish." He glanced at the windows, where he'd recently thrown out a fishy-smelling notice that had come with his last basket of groceries. _I don't know what it said, but it couldn't have been anything good. Not to smell like __**that**__._

She laughed, then pushed her plate away as she leaned back in her chair. She looked sated and relaxed again. "Don't let me sleep in, in the morning." she warned. "It's so quiet here, I'm likely to sleep for a week. I'm not really a morning person, so getting up before dawn…" She trailed off, frowning.

He chuckled at her unhappy pout. "You may not have noticed, but the chantry bells are hard to miss here. And there are a lot of dog who howl at them." He rolled his eyes at the thought that he, a squatter, was a far more considerate neighbor than the refined, rich nobles around him. "I am used to it, but it might not be as restful a night as you think."

She shrugged, explaining, "I'm from Ferelden. Dogs barking is our national anthem." Fenris laughed. "Besides, it can't be any worse than hearing Gamlen snore all night long."

"You sound like you miss him already, Hawke," he teased. "Perhaps we should take him with us."

"The Deep Roads are foul enough. I wouldn't even leave him down there; I'd feel sorry for the darkspawn." She snorted, then sighed heavily. "I will look forward to having to our own home, whether that's the family estate, or a rented broom-closet somewhere."

Fenris shifted in his seat, remembering the empty, overgrown estate she had shown him near the Viscount's Keep. "The viscount should give you your estate back simply for ridding it of slavers. I wish we had met sooner. I would have enjoyed helping you purge it."

"I wish we'd met sooner, too." She leaned on her elbow, smiling at him. "But if mother gets the estate back, we'll be neighbors. You could come by as often as you wish, no long trips to Lowtown and back."

His heart was beginning to race as he took in the sight of her comfortably sitting at his table, in his room, smiling at him, so he reluctantly tore his eyes from her as reached for his water. "I would like that," he said, before taking a long drink.

She leaned forward as he tipped his cup, whispering, "You could even stay overnight, just like this. I plan to buy a very comfortable bed." She laughed, clapping her hands and rocking back in her chair as he coughed and hastily set his cup down. _He seems to enjoy teasing at the dinner table,_ she mused. _Host's rules, and I am but a guest..._ Then she glanced past his shoulder, at his bed, and her eyes shifted back to him. _But I'll have to buy a much bigger bed. Neither of us will be sleeping on the floor, if I can help it.  
_

Fenris saw her blush and look away, as if she'd just had a terribly embarrassing thought. It caused him to have a few thoughts of his own. He shifted in his seat again, rubbing at his forehead and trying to remember what they'd originally been talking about. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Hmm, well. Do not concern yourself about tomorrow, at any rate. I do not need much sleep, and I usually wake near dawn."

She began pushing away the dinner dishes. "And I am a deep sleeper who would sleep well past noon every day, if I could. Seems like another way that we complement one another. Though I'm not really sure how my sleeping in would help you in any way." Her sigh was thick with self-deprecation.

He remained silent, thinking that he'd likely stay abed more if he had the comfort of warm company, rather than solitude and nightmares.

Hawke finished clearing away their dinner and smiled as she pulled over the tarts, offering him his. He accepted it hesitantly, heart beginning to pound again. He glanced over at the water pails, noticing that they were beginning to steam. _Perhaps a break would be welcome… _Then he glanced back at Hawke, only to see her bite into the thick bed of strawberries crowning her pastry.

"Mmm…" Her eyes closed as she chewed, and Fenris's mouth went dry when she licked her lips. Only his carefully practiced control kept him from involuntarily crushing his own tart in his hand. Her eyes fluttered open. "Try it, Fenris. It's really good. I thought you liked strawberries?"

He cleared his throat, looking down at his pastry. "I do." _A lot more than I used to, now._

"Oh blast, the water! I keep forgetting." She hastily put down her dessert, wiped her hands, and stood. "I told you I was bad at this."

He let her attend to the pails, eating his dessert in relative, if somewhat disappointing, peace. By the time she returned, he was safely over by the fireplace, taking a much needed respite. _Anders… Merrill… demons… abominations… Jethann… fish… Isabela… _

"I hope it will not rain tomorrow," Hawke said as she approached the fireplace, glancing up at him when she'd set the pails down. "It will take a good part of the day to get to the Deep Roads entrance. I'd rather not go underground all… sodden."

He shifted, watching and smelling her from where he leaned against the mantlepiece. "It should be fine."

She shook her head in wonder. "'It should be fine,' just like that? You didn't even look out the window!"

Fenris shrugged. "We spent most of the day outside."

She laughed incredulously, so he sighed and went over to one of the narrow windows and peered up at the night sky. He didn't see anything of note. "The clouds were high, the insects were quiet, and the wind was constant. Barring some sudden storm off the sea, it shouldn't rain at all. But that is not likely, since the waters looked rather calm while we were on the ferry."

Hawke blinked a few times, peering at him over her shoulder. "You noticed all of that," she said flatly.

He shrugged again, remaining at the window, still trying to calm himself. She returned to her chair at the table, partly to admire the view at the windows. "I didn't notice any of that," she snorted, picking up her tart. "Though, on the ferry, I was just trying to keep down my breakfast." She was silent for a while, and Fenris determinedly decided not to turn to watch her eat.

"But… where did you learn all of this, Fenris?" she asked, between bites. "The weather, the Qunari, _three_ languages, fighting, religion, history…" She shook her head in disbelief, though his back was still turned. _So many layers I would like to peel away… _she thought heatedly, admiring him from behind.

He continued to lean against the wall, not answering. _I don't know, myself_, he thought. He sighed, and she could see his shoulders slump a little.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, remembering herself. "I didn't mean to pry. You needn't answer, forgive me."

_You needn't apologize for caring enough to ask, _he thought. But he kept it to himself, not wanting the evening to take another awkward turn.

Hawke set about clearing the table to fill the silence. Barely a minute later, a rapid knock sounded on the front door, and she narrowly, and noisily, avoided dropping everything she'd gathered onto the floor. Fenris turned at the sudden racket, looking bemused. _Perhaps she would enjoy throwing dishes after all._

_I had completely forgotten about the herbs,_ she thought. "That'll be the… runner. I'll get it, Fenris," she said hastily, trying to keep the haphazard stack of dishes from falling over. He shook his head, going to answer it anyway. She practically threw herself in front of the doorway, and he pulled up just short of bowling her over.

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her. He involuntarily inhaled her scent again. _At least I'm not the only one on edge tonight,_ he thought wryly, curling his hands into fists to keep from tucking an errant strand of her slightly damp hair behind her ear.

The knock sounded again, more loudly. "Just… watch the water. I'll get it, really. It's for me anyway." She backed away, not meeting his eye, then turned to hurry to the door.

He watched her go, tempted to follow after her — or at least eavesdrop. _No… let her have her secrets._ He glanced at the mess on the table, hesitating, before walking back over to lean against the fireplace again. _She did say to watch the water…_

Hawke returned momentarily, cautiously edging her way into the room until she saw that Fenris was looking away. She hurried to her travel sack, tucking the herbs away. As she buried it safely down among her clothes, her hand brushed against a deck of cards. She had packed her own Wicked Grace deck, since she didn't trust Varric's not to be marked. _Hmm… this might be just the thing to keep the night from getting any more awkward. _

She felt a catch in her throat as she remembered how she'd learned the game from her father, played it often with Carver, and how it had led to many enjoyable, late evenings with John. _All the men in my life loved this game. I suppose it is only fitting to see if Fenris is the same. _She cleared her tight throat, focusing on the present.

"Shall we play cards while we draw your bath?" she asked, pulling the deck out. She tugged the red ribbon free that bound the cards, then riffled them loudly. "Wicked Grace?"

He glanced back at her, looking regretful. "I'm… sorry. I don't know how to play. I've never played cards." _There is not much free time for slaves or fugitives to play games. No, I won't think on it. She is right. I will try to live tonight. _He looked at her, pushing away the instinct to turn around and end the discussion.

She smiled deeply, somehow sending the cards shooting from one hand across to the other. "Ahh. Then I'll just have to teach you." His eyebrows went up, and he suddenly felt like a small hare being swooped down upon by… well, a hawk. She glanced at the mess she'd left on the table, then decided cleaning could wait until Fenris was bathing. She climbed onto his bed to sit cross-legged. "Come. It's easy to learn, but hard to master. You are clever, no doubt you will enjoy it."

He glanced at the pails, but they were a few minutes away from steaming. Then he looked over to Hawke, who was expertly shuffling the deck. He sighed and reluctantly went to pull his chair over in front of the low bed, to sit facing her.

She settled herself more firmly on his bed, then began dealing. "The object of the game is to make as many matches as possible out of your five cards. You can draw a card each turn from either the deck or the draw pile, but you must discard one card."

Fenris hesitantly picked up his cards, looking askance at his hand, hoping that they didn't have any words on them. He was relieved to discover they only had large pictures.

She turned her own hand face up to point out how to play. "You see the suits? There are five of them, and you want to have as many matching suits in your hand as possible. But some suits are better than others." He let her lay his hand face up on the coverlet. "Angels are the best," she said, pointing, "followed by Knights, Songs, Daggers, and last, Serpents."

He nodded, noting the themes of the cards she pointed out, and seeing how there were similarly colored ones among the other cards they both held.

"So, the worst hand is having no matches at all. The best hand would have all five Angels." She paused, rifling through the rest of the deck. He watched as she held up a card that was drawn all in black. "The rub is that the game ends when the angel of death is drawn. It is sort of in the Angel suit, too. But you cannot play this one, only discard it, ending the game."

He nodded. "I understand. But, what if you are dealt it right away?"

Her face become a little too blank. "Why, you take your turn, then end the game immediately, of course. Anything else would be _cheating_, Fenris."

He chuckled, able to read her expression. "I see."

"Let us play this first hand face up, so I can tutor you," she said with an innocent smile. She placed the deck back onto the bed, and they played a quick, instructive game. She didn't need to coach him much, for he seemed to grasp the basics quickly.

"You win!" she said, pointing out how his full house beat her three of a kind when she drew the angel of death. He blinked when she gathered them up the cards and handed them to him. "Here, practice your shuffling. I'll take care of the water."

He took them, then attempted a few times to riffle them together, the way she had. _She made it look rather easy,_ he thought with frustration as a few cards flipped across the bed. He gathered them back up to try again. _If she can do it, I can._

By the time Hawke came back with more water, Fenris was fairly adept at shuffling. "I'd better watch out. You're a quick study," she teased, climbing back up onto the bed. "Do you want to deal this time?"

"I suppose." He slowly dealt out five cards, trying to toss them across the coverlet like she had, but the cards kept flipping over, or spinning away so she had to catch them.

Hawke giggled as she gathered the cards up, noting how Fenris frowned with frustration. "Don't worry about it. You'll get better," she said encouragingly. "That's why we're practicing. By the time we go to bed, you'll be able to take on Varric. And you could already beat Anders…"

He made a disgusted noise as he set the remainder of the deck on the bed, holding up his cards to inspect them while she went first._ Hmm, the angel of death is in my hand. Pity, as I have no matches otherwise. Even if I draw one, she's as likely to have a better hand than me. _He kept his face carefully neutral as he considered his options — namely, whether or not to cheat. A curious, competitive desire rose in him, and he was sorely tempted to win at all costs.

Hawke pulled a card off the top of the deck, tutting mournfully. "Oh dear. Just the lousy serpent of avarice. Utter shit…" She sighed very heavily.

_Ah, she has nothing either. Perhaps I will win after all_. He decided to play it straight, so long as he had a good chance of winning.

She discarded the knight of twilight, which would make him a fairly strong pair. He picked it up, discarding the angel of death. "I must end the game already, Hawke. My apologies." He laid down his cards, expectantly showing his pair.

"Damn. Just my luck, as all I have is two serpents…" she said sorrowfully, laying down two cards.

_I knew it, _Fenris thought with satisfaction. _I can read her like an open bo…_

"Oh, yes, and these other two serpents." She flicked the rest of her cards down with a devious grin. "Bluffed you."

He frowned, realizing he'd been played. "Hmm. Well, you did say it was a game of cleverness." The flicker of competitiveness turned into a hotter blaze, and he clenched a fist.

She smiled apologetically, tapping at her temple. "It's as much about what goes on up here, as it is what the cards bring you. Consider it part two of your lesson." He nodded, determined not to make the same mistake again.

They played a few more hands, both of them winning nearly an equal number. She had Fenris shuffle and deal each hand, making him practice, and showing him how to flick the cards with a little spin to send them where he wished them to go.

"Much better," she said proudly, gathering up her hand. "You have card-players hands. Very… dexterous."

He smiled, beginning to enjoy himself. "So I gather that, like with most games, this is most often played for coin?"

She nodded, sorting her cards before drawing. "Usually a standard amount each hand, with the winner taking all. A skilled Wicked Grace player can win more often than not, so it can be quite profitable. Games like Diamondback, which have several rounds of betting, are a bit chancier and more… nuanced. Best if Varric teaches you that one, as I'm only a fair player, myself."

Surprisingly, she discarded the angel of kindness. Fenris looked at his hand, then picked up her card to make four of a kind Angels. _She has lost already. I'd wager on that_, he thought, with immense pleasure. This game dragged on, however, and Fenris grew more irritated with each passing turn when the deck brought him neither his last angel, the angel of truth, nor the angel of death, which would end the game and likely make him the winner.

He eyed her suspiciously as she drew the second to last card. "You'd better not be holding on to the angel of death, Hawke."

"What? Me? I was waiting for it, same as you. I just drew it!" she said, flagrantly laying down the angel of death, then five of a kind Songs. "Slanderous."

He swore under his breath when he saw that she'd beaten him. He'd been so busy eying her face that he had neglected to watch her hands to see if she'd discarded the card she'd drawn, or one from her hand. "Hawke…"

She shrugged helplessly, then scooted off the bed to attend to the water. "I'm sorry, Fenris, it just happens sometimes."

Grumbling, he began to gather up the cards. He flipped over the last draw card, frowning when he saw it was a Dagger, and not the Angel he'd been waiting for. Confused, since Hawke had had nothing but Song suited cards, he rifled through the draw pile, then came across the angel of kindness somewhere near the beginning of the stack.

_That was not there when she discarded. I would have seen it and picked it up. _He screwed his face up into a scowl. _I have been played, again. Possibly several ways. _He glanced over his shoulder at her. _Hmph. I'll show her._ He loudly shuffled the cards as she went by with the steaming pails, then carefully began to stack the deck when she exited the room. _This will teach her. _He waited with impatience for her to return, eager for her comeuppance.

When she finally deposited herself back on his bed, he was doubly careful to ensure his face betrayed nothing as he dealt. "I appreciate you drawing me a bath. It gives me time to strategize," he said ironically.

She smiled, but it faded to a frown when she picked up her cards. "Well… this hand couldn't look much worse," she said, eying him over the top of her cards. "Who dealt this garbage?"

He shrugged. "Just the luck of the draw, Hawke. I'm sorry. As you say, it just happens sometimes." His voice was perfectly even, and pitched just between empathetic and purely innocent.

Fenris looked at his same-suited hand, all Angels, except for the angel of fortitude, which he'd buried halfway down the deck. He'd counted the cards so he'd know precisely when to pick it up. _I'll take two cards myself, if I have to_, he decided._ She will lose this hand, one way or another._

Hawke's face was a mask of disgust and disappointment as they played, each subsequent card frustrating her more than the one before. For his part, Fenris drew from the deck, then mingled the card in his hand before he discarded it. He hoped to confuse her further by discarding a wide array of suits. After a number of rounds, he calculated it was his time to end the game. He drew from the deck without looking, knowing it would be his planted angel of fortitude.

"By the way, you look quite well tonight." He gave her a smile as he added the card to his hand, subtlety putting it behind the angel of death, so he could pretend he'd just drawn Death without noticing.

She gave him a sly smile. "You flatter me. Again."

He looked down at his hand, pretending to frown. "I apologize. I was distracted and did not notice that I'd drawn…" He paused, truly frowning when he noticed that the card he'd actually drawn, the one he'd tucked behind Death, had not been the angel of fortitude at all. _I'm positive I counted correctly. And I watched her like a…_

"Something amiss, Fenris?" Hawke's eyes gleamed when he looked up at her.

"You cheater," he said ruefully. "You drew more than one card, didn't you!" _I was planning on it. No doubt she must have done it herself._

"And how would you know, hmm? Something not where you expected to find it?" She chuckled when he blushed, then fully laughed when he tried to hide it by tossing his cards down in a huff. "It was a clever move, as was your flattery. You're actually getting quite good at this."

Fenris sighed, leaning back in his chair. "How am I supposed to win if you keep cheating?" he grumbled. He didn't know why it bothered him, but he sorely wanted to win.

She gathered up the cards, shuffling and dealing herself. "Lesson three. The deeper game of Wicked Grace _is_ cheating." He crossed his arms, giving her a sullen look. "You should try to catch me, outmaneuver me, or out-luck me," she said with a shrug. "The first two are the more reliable tactics."

He considered her for a moment more, then leaned in to snatch up his cards, intent on beating her this time. "I'm watching you, Hawke."

She smiled. "Do what you must, Fenris… and may the cleverest win."

He did watch her this time. His keen eyes took in everything — her facial expressions, what cards she discarded, what her hands were doing as she drew or discarded. He even watched to see if her pupils widened, looking for some subtle indicator that she'd drawn the angel of death and was withholding it. For her part, she just kept smiling at him, seemingly unconcerned with how close he leaned in to peer at her. They both kept up a diverting stream of chatter, complimenting one another outrageously, and saying misleading things about what they'd drawn or wished they had drawn. But neither of them believed half the misinformation of the other. The flirting, however, they danced around, letting it hang subtly between them.

"My hair is nowhere near as striking as yours, Fenris. And thank you, for discarding the… Damn, the water is steaming." Hawke frowned and sat up to peer past him. "I should go tend to it." Fenris glanced over his shoulder — then realized his mistake. Even as he turned back, his left hand snapped out to grab her as she tried to sneak a card from the deck while he was distracted.

"Ah ha," he cried, pulling her right hand over, turning it upright. The motion pulled her off balance, and her swiped cards were tipped onto the bed. He held her firmly, fixing her with a triumphant smirk.

She laughed, catching herself with her other hand before she fell into him. "I didn't think you'd actually fall for that, but when you did… I just had to try."

Fenris realized suddenly that he was holding her hand, and he let her go. He looked away, his expression hidden behind his hair. _I was not thinking. I should not have done that. I could have hurt her. _"Hawke, I'm… sorry."

She waved it off, gathering up her cards and putting back the stolen ones. "Lesson four. Have quick and bold hands." He still didn't meet her eye. "It's a perfectly valid tactic, Fenris. The game _is_ titled both 'wicked' and 'grace,' after all," she explained. "What can be more wicked than lying and cheating, or more graceful than catching me right in the act?"

He stared down at his cards blankly, having entirely lost his concentration. _I… touched her again. And she doesn't mind. I__t__ didn't feel… wrong. But… _He numbly rearranged his cards, stalling as his shock wore off and worry set in. _We should stop playing. If that is the way this game is played, then this isn't fair to her. She can't touch me. _His hands stilled. _Can she?_

Hawke chewed on her lower lip, trying to calm her pounding heart. Despite her nonchalant explanation, she was nervous about what his reaction would be. _I had not really considered this part of the game. But it might turn out to be a fairly harmless way of… testing the waters. _She took a breath, steeling herself._ I care about him. I don't want to rush him, but I cannot let him just… linger like this._

"Fenris, what's wrong?" she asked gently, though she already had a very good idea of why he was silent.

He closed his eyes, head bowing further as he lay his cards down. "I can't… do this."

She swallowed at his reluctant tone. "The… touching?" He nodded, still looking down, face hidden. She put her cards down too, then leaned towards him.

"I know you don't like being touched… but you _have_ touched me, a few times," she said cautiously. "You even held my hand the whole time you reset my arm. Remember?"

He remained still for a while, then shook his head. "I don't remember it clearly. I was… not myself." _She is so close that I can smell her, but I can't… I can't just touch her. _He curled his left hand into a tight fist, remembering how he'd grabbed at her without thinking, twice now.

She slid her right hand across to his until their fingertips met. "You were yourself, when you made up your mind to," she responded quietly. "I… could see it, in your eyes. You just didn't want to cause me pain." His head sank even further, chin touching his chest, but his hands still lay on the bed. _Perhaps I have gone too far. I should not push him_, she thought, letting out a soft, frustrated sigh.

Her sigh made him feel… terrible. _I seem to cause you pain no matter what I do, Hawke_._ It seems I am destined to be always in your debt, digging myself deeper, with no hope of repaying you. _He felt a straining in his chest, and his newly found competitiveness demanded that he try harder to beat back his self-pity. _If she can try, why can't I? If she is not scared of me, then why am I? _He focused on the feel of her fingertips against his, but he struggled, torn between moving forward and away.

"We can practice some other time, perhaps," she said finally, deciding to retreat when he remained silent. "When you are…" Fenris's hand moved to clasp hers before she could pull it away. "… Ready," she finished breathlessly.

Hawke sat very still, though she was leaning over uncomfortably, and her elbow rested on the sliding deck of cards. She kept her hand motionless, resisting the urge to squeeze his hand, despite the fact that his thumb was rubbing haltingly along the back of hers.

Fenris kept his head bent, screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as he worked up the nerve to move his left hand to hold onto her, too. It wasn't pain that held him back. He was used to the lingering agony of his lyrium markings — it would sometimes come upon him strongly, out of nowhere, when he was alone, or in dreams, though it was most reliably triggered by touch. But he used his hands and feet often — they were less sensitive and almost never burned, now.

No, more than anything, he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to control himself if the memories of the ritual came upon him. Afraid that she would see him suffering, then pity him. Or that he would pull away, snapping or snarling at her, driving even more of a wedge between them. His left hand was still clenched against the memory of how, the first time he'd touched her, it had been to grab her. He had rarely touched anyone who he didn't kill, or intend to kill. It put him in mind of his nightmares, and his confidence flagged.

"Take all the time you need, Fenris," she said softly, noticing how he was shaking slightly. "You can do this."

But he couldn't. He clung to her, palm growing moist as he held her hand awkwardly. His arm quivered as though they were evenly locked in a wrestling match, though Hawke was not resisting him at all. And he couldn't make his left hand reach to enfold her hand between his, despite having wanted to do just that, so many times before, and despite wanting to now.

_I am a coward. _He let go of her suddenly, standing and turning way so fast that he upset his chair. "Venhedis!" he cursed, pacing furiously for a minute. Hawke said nothing, watching him with concern. Finally he retrieved the pails for his bath and stalked out of the room, not looking at her, and remaining silent.

She sat up on the bed, worrying at her lip and staring after him. _I should let him go. I must not push him. He will come back to this when he is ready. He is too tenacious and brave not to. I know he will get there. I just need to be patient with him._ She gathered up the cards, shuffling the deck absentmindedly while she waited for him to return. _If he returns. No. He will. I must believe in him. He needs that more than my touch. _She crawled to the edge of the bed and uprighted his chair, trusting that he would be back to occupy it.

Fenris dumped the water into the tub, then paced about the bathing chamber restlessly._ Curse these markings. Curse Danarius for forcing this upon me. Curse slavery, and magic, and the Imperium. Curse the whole, cruel world. But me? Curse me for being a coward. _He clenched his hands into fists, squeezing them hard, as if he could wring all the lyrium-laced ink from his skin.

_Danarius would have me massage him after his bath, and I would gladly follow his orders, hoping to please him. Hadriana would bid me touch her, and I would comply because of her status, beyond all my revulsion. But Hawke offers her hand freely, and I cannot take it._

He prowled around angrily, then decided to work out his aggression by pumping water. The pump squealed with a pained, high-pitched shriek at being worked so hard, and he found the agonizing noise all too appropriate. Working it so aggressively, he filled the buckets very quickly, then struggled with whether or not to stall for more time.

_Coward_, he thought again. _Go back in there and prove yourself. Will you run from her? Will you flee your mansion because of an empty hand, wielded by a beautiful, tender-hearted woman sitting on your bed? _He found himself balking at his hesitation, the fresh drive in him to win spurring him on.

Growling more curses under his breath, Fenris hefted up the dripping pails and stalked back to his room. He did not look at Hawke as he went to the fireplace, nor did he glance back at her while he built the fire back up. He paused for a long minute, crouched in front of the reinvigorated fire, trying to prepare himself. _I am not a coward. She is right, I have done this before. I can do it again, if I just stop acting… scared. I want this. I can do this. All I need to do is… go to her._

Then he stood, turning to Hawke and fixing his gaze on her face. She still sat cross-legged on his bed, fidgeting quietly with the deck of cards in her hands. He marched to her, not taking his eyes off of her, even when her eyes widened in surprise as he moved past his chair to loom over where she sat on the bed.

He took the deck of cards from her and tossed them down, the fingers of his right hand brushing against her palms. Then, before he could hesitate, he folded each of his hands over one of hers, gritting his teeth against physical and mental discomforts that... did not come.

Hawke blinked up at him, taking quick, shallow breaths when she saw the intense, determined look on his face. Then she stared at their hands, before finally looking away with a slight flush on her cheeks. She squirmed, but not to pull away. Rather, she settled her hands to rest more firmly within his grasp. Then her thumbs began making small circles against the backs of his hands, and she gave him a reassuring squeeze.

The grim expression on his face faded as he realized that the haunting pain and memories were still absent. He took his eyes off her and turned his gaze instead to her hands folded within his own larger, lyrium-lined ones. _Now, I… do not want to let go_, he realized. Her arms were pulled up awkwardly, however, since he stood and she sat.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely, reluctantly releasing her. As her fingers slipped through his grasp, he tried to memorize the feel of her.

She swallowed thickly, then replied, "You're always welcome, Fenris." She glanced at him while he sat. "I'm… here. There is no rush. We don't have to play that particular way, if you wish."

Fenris leaned forward in his chair, head bowed and elbows on his knees, but he rested his forearms on the bed. His hands were fists again, but loose ones. "We were on lesson four. Practice makes perfect," he sighed, closing his eyes. He both hoped and feared that she would take his meaning and continue, and he couldn't watch to see if she would.

Hawke looked at his hands for a moment. She moved a little closer to him, then leaned over to run her left hand along the back of his right. He tensed slightly, and she tried to make it a steady stroke, rather than a light caress. After a short while, he opened his hand a little more, so she slipped her fingers down to his palm, brushing up to his fingertips and down to his wrist. She touched him carefully but deliberately, keeping up a slow rhythm of sweeping her fingers over his hand.

Slowly, Fenris seemed to relax, his back growing bowed rather than arched. His tense shoulders eased, though he still kept his head down. Hawke suspected he also had his eyes closed. She reached for his left hand to repeat the same motions, still rubbing his right. He relaxed his hand almost immediately, so she simultaneously massaged them both, mirroring her actions with each hand.

When she judged that he was coping well, she closed her eyes too, focusing fully on him. Though she felt foolish, Hawke tried to push every ounce of fondness, adoration, and acceptance that she felt for him into her hands, hoping it would help him, somehow. _I'm here. You're safe. Everything is fine. I think you're wonderful. I'm proud of you. You can do this. I believe in you. _He seemed to relax even further under her ministrations, so she continued, relishing the opportunity to finally touch him after so many long weeks of holding back.

_Maybe it is just my imagination, but I can almost feel the lyrium humming beneath his skin,_ she thought. _I can just make out the lines with my fingertips, and these smooth areas must be where his gloves rub. _She felt many things, focused on him this way. Keeping her eyes closed, she explored his hands with her own — slowly, tenderly, and with great care.

She marveled at everything. His smooth, short fingernails. The ridges of his knuckles. The two inexpensive rings he wore, one the index finger of his left hand, the other on the pinky of his right. She remembered looting them, and how, when she'd let him have his pick, he'd jammed them onto whichever finger they fit best. The memory made her smile, and she played with the rings for a few moments before moving on to explore elsewhere.

Her fingertips traced the lines on his palms, then the pads of his fingertips. She could feel the long, straight bones of his elegant, elven hands, wrapped in the steely muscles of a skilled warrior. His callouses told the story of a slave, but also of a sword. Even with her eyes closed, she could see how wondrous his hands were, and they spoke to her of the even more beautiful man behind them.

After a few minutes, she reluctantly let go of his right hand to envelop his left in both of hers. She noticed how tense it was, so very cautiously, she lifted it off the bed and rubbed both the front and back between her hands. His fingers and wrist were limp, letting her manipulate them however she wished. As she warmly rubbed his hand between hers, however, she felt him starting to react, and touch her back.

With her eyes closed, she could clearly hear the sounds of the fire, and his deep, steady breathing. She took the latter for a good sign and grew a little bolder, carefully splaying his fingers with her own. Her right hand cradled his wrist gently as she ran the fingers of her left up and down between his own fingers. After a few soft strokes, his fingers began to curl against hers, caging them. She gladly entwined with him, gently squeezing once their hands were folded together. He squeezed back, and his right hand folded on top of hers, too. With their hands fully joined, she felt a spark shoot up her spine, and her heart began thudding uncontrollably.

They sat like that for untold minutes, quietly clasping hands, moving only in slight, gentle ways, as if to reassure one another that they were still there, still alive, and still holding on. Both of them left their eyes closed and heads bowed, leaving the quiet, soft moment to be carried fully in their joined hands.

Eventually, the crooked pail started to clatter, alerting them to the fact that the water for Fenris's bath had come to a full boil, again. They both stirred when it started up, squeezing each other's hands for a few moments before reluctantly letting go.

"Let me," Fenris said softly, standing and quietly moving to tend to the steaming water. The only thoughts that had gone through his head while she touched him still reverberated, echoing over and over in his mind. _Yes. This feels right. Hawke. Marian._

Hawke let him go, figuring that he probably wanted some time alone to think about what had happened. Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable if he was having mixed feelings about what had transpired, she kept her gaze averted. Still, she could not help but smile to herself. She rested her hands against her chest, rubbing at them, still aware of the lingering feeling of his touch, missing the almost imperceptible hum of lyrium. _When he was fixing my arm and I wished for another opportunity to hold his hand, I never imagined it could be like… this,_ she thought, feeling a bit dazed.

Despite volunteering for the task, Fenris found himself very reluctant to pick up the towels to wrap around the hot pail handles. He could still feel Hawke's warmth on his skin, and he was almost convinced he would forget it if he touched anything else. _She will still be here. I can take her hands again when I wish,_ he reminded himself_. Yes. I am not afraid. Nor reluctant, now that I know it can be like… that. It felt right. The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can return to her. To Hawke. To Marian._

He gave her a slightly nervous glance as he turned to leave the room, but his anxiety fled when he saw Hawke's expression was flushed and contented, not uncertain or full of pity. He had to swallow hard and avert his eyes, deciding to focus on the task at hand for the time being. Even when he realized that playing cards would make drawing his bath go quicker than holding hands would, he came back as quickly as he could, without rushing too much, not wanting to spill and have the water boil even faster.

Hawke was stripping the deck of cards nervously when he reentered the room, and she looked surprised to see him come in. _I thought for sure he'd take his time. _She watched him fondly, mind going a little blank as she let herself just take him in.

Fenris set the pails down without hesitation, though he took a deep breath before turning back to the bed, and Hawke. He looked forward to being near her again, and to the continuation of their game. _Yes. It is enjoyable, and if it gives me an excuse to touch her, well… I will not mind losing near as much, now, _he decided. The new flicker of competitiveness in him caused him to add,_ Though I do intend to win_._ She does not have a hope, for I know all her little secrets, or soon enough will._

When he finally sat down in his chair, he was smiling, she gave him a smile in return. Their eyes met, and both of them looked away for a moment, a touch shy. Still, he pulled his chair closer to the bed, then reached out with both hands to take the deck of cards from her. He deliberately pulled her hand over with his left while letting the fingers of his right trail against her palm as he slid the deck away.

"You may come to regret this, Hawke. Now, I will be unstoppable at Wicked Grace." His familiar crooked smile was deep with self-assurance as he shuffled and dealt a new game of cards.

"I…" Hawke hesitated, coming entirely too close to admitting a number of things, the least of which was that seeing him like this, so confident and alive, was something she could never regret.

"I'm just glad to have a game we can play," she said, giving him a private smile.

He chuckled deeply. "Yes." They shared a look, both eying each other over their cards with determination, before turning back to the business of winning their next hand.

* * *

Fenris was finally having his bath, probably an hour or so later than if they hadn't gotten so caught up playing cards. They'd wound up boiling several more pails full of water in their combined distraction, though Fenris had likely made up for it with his speed in carrying the buckets. He had actually been reluctant to go have his bath once it was ready, wanting to continue his winning streak with the card game. Hawke had urged him to enjoy a long soak, just as he'd urged her, earlier. The reminder that they wouldn't get a decent bath for over a month finally persuaded him to go — after she promised him a few more hands of Wicked Grace before bed.

Hawke chuckled to herself, thinking of his smug satisfaction that he was winning so often. _He doesn't need to know that I'm going easy on him tonight. There will be time enough for us to really pit our skills against one another, in the Deep Roads._

She busied herself now with cleaning up their dinner mess. She smiled as she cleaned, thinking of how enthusiastically he'd taken to grabbing at her hands when they played — they both did it a little more often than was strictly necessary. _Not that I mind. I am double-drawing rather more often than I should. And letting him catch me. Maybe he is, too._

She grew thoughtful while she cleaned the dishes. The first thing she washed was the teacup she had used to brew her first cup of moon tea, just after Fenris went to bathe. _I'll have to remember to have cup of it every night before bed. At least I can just say it's something to help me sleep — though Anders might be able to guess what it really is._

She moved on to washing plates. _I hope Anders has enough contacts in the mage underground to help Bethany, though things should be fine. Must think positive. Still, I'll talk with him tomorrow and see how things went. _Then she smiled slyly, wondering how he and Bethany were getting on this night. _It is none of my business, but I hope they at least have a few pleasant memories of tonight to reflect on. _She seriously doubted they would go so far as to sleep together, but she trusted that Anders would ensure that Bethany suspected nothing about their real plans, no matter what happened.

She began to wash the cutlery, mind turning back to Fenris. _What a day. What a span of days, really. If thing keep progressing at this rate, I might have another reason to drink my moon tea. A broody baby would rather complicate things. _Her face burned at the thought, though she was entirely alone with no one to see her crimson flush. _I'm getting to be worse than Isabela,_ she scolded herself, but not feeling very repentant. _He makes it very hard to go slow, but he is more than worth the effort. Every small thing between us seems so much grander because of it._

She felt aroused just thinking about the way he'd looked at her when he strode over to take her hands in his. _Maker, but he was determined to hold my hands. He looked even more intense than when he first looked at me, and that had been nearly physical. _He had turned his deeply piercing gaze on her a handful of times since they'd met, but even his normal looks made her crave him. Hawke was well aware that she had a weakness for his eyes._ That look must mean he's made up his mind about something. I'll need to watch out, when I next see it. _Being truthful with herself, she admitted that she very much looked forward to it._ He is unusually determined tonight. If only there was a card game that could get him to share his bed with me… _

She thought of having his wondrous hands exploring her skin, and of nestling into his strong arms. _Mmm, he has such warm, strong hands. And his arms! Watching him carry those buckets? Maker! _She grinned to herself, knowing that she'd never grow tired of watching his arms flex, no matter how many pails of water took him out of the room._ The view as he leaves is equally pleasant. As if I needed more reasons to look forward to a nice bath…_

That got her thinking about him in the bath. She tried not to think about what his hands were doing, running over his own bare skin and whatever mysterious markings lay beneath his armor. The thought of him out of his armor was something that often ran through her mind, for a number of reasons. _Hmm, I wonder what he'll wear to bed?_ she wondered. _Certainly he can't sleep in those spiky pauldrons. But will he keep his tunic on? I suppose I will find out, soon enough._ She began to dry the dishes as she swept her eye around the room. _But this floor is entirely too hard and cold for him to sleep on. _She glanced at the bed, which was big enough for two — barely. _I shouldn't even be thinking about this,_ she chastised herself._ Whatever happened to not rushing him, Marian?_ _It took a lot for him to just hold my hands._

She put the dishes away on his bookshelf, then stowed her journal safely on the top shelf. Satisfied with her modest effort at holding back his mess, she went to recline on the bed, starting to feel sleepy. _I wonder how much longer he'll be,_ she thought with large yawn. Pulling over the deck of cards, she cut and shuffled with one hand, practicing leaving cards on top, or on bottom, or subtly keeping track of where one of them was as she manipulated the deck.

_He's getting rather good at this, so I'll need to start pulling out all the stops soon. I need to watch him. _She yawned again. _Those eyes of his, and now his quick, bold hands, to say nothing of his cleverness. He keeps his face utterly blank, unless it is to smile at me, of all the unfair tricks… _She stretched out on the coverlet, getting more comfortable. _But, of course, he can read my face like an open book. He always has… _Hawke's hands gradually stilled as she dozed off, still thinking of Fenris.

* * *

Fenris exited the bath sometime later. He had originally been torn between lingering, and going back to Hawke, but the piping hot water had eventually lulled him into a relaxing doze. He'd awakened before the water became cold, but had taken his time dressing for bed, hoping that Hawke would be distracted by him in his silk shirt so he could catch her in the act of cheating, and win more often. He peered into his broken mirror fragment, pulling at his hair with his comb, taking uncharacteristic care to ensure it wasn't tangled or messy. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he gathered up his travel bag and what armor pieces he'd worn into the bathing chamber, then walked back to his room.

_She certainly is being quiet,_ he thought, wondering what she'd gotten up to, until he saw her sleeping. He always moved quietly, but he crept even more carefully once he noticed her laying on the bed. He set his pack and armor down very slowly, not wanting to disturb her. _She is laying the wrong way, and not under the covers. The deck is still in her hands, even. She must have fallen asleep, waiting for me._ The thought made his heart swell within his chest.

Quietly drawing his key out of his belt pouch, he crept back out of the room to fetch a few bottles of wine from the cellar. He snuffed half the torches on his way down, then extinguished the other half on his way back up, carrying a bottle of red wine under each arm, and a bottle of Agreggio in his hand. _It won't be nearly enough, but if anything happens, it could help… smooth things over, as she is fond of saying._ He left the wine bottles near his bag, planning to pack them in the morning, rather than wake Hawke with the sound of glass bottles clinking. He turned his attention to the fire, banking it for the night, before going near the bed to retrieve the pile of bedding that he'd planned to use to make up his pallet.

Fenris paused with his arms full of blankets and pillows, trying to figure out where to sleep. _The fireplace might be a little too warm. _He glanced at Hawke, who had stirred, inhaling as a waft of her soap drifted up. _Such a calming scent. I wonder if it would ease my sleep. _He hastily pushed away a desire to climb onto the bed with her. _At least my bed will smell like her for a time… though I will not be here to enjoy it. _

Looking at the floor, he wondered, _Would she mind if I slept this close?_ He thought over everything that had happened that day, and the night before. _Probably not,_ he decided, feeling slightly heated beyond just the warmth of his long bath.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked sleepily, blinking up at him and struggling to sit up. "Maker, please tell me it isn't dawn yet."

He chuckled. "No. It is time for bed. Get under the covers, I will snuff the candles soon."

She shook her head, propped up on one elbow as she ran a hand through her mussed hair. "Do you want to deal, or should I?"

He set his bundle on the bed between them before reaching over to squeeze her hand and help her sit up. "We can play more Wicked Grace tomorrow. You are clearly exhausted."

"No, no, I want to play some more." She searched around for the deck of cards that she still held in her other hand.

"It would not be very challenging to play against you when you're half-asleep," he said gently. "I was already beating you roundly, if you recall." She snorted, then rubbed at her eyes, finally noticing the cards.

"I will make my bed right here, so if you need anything during the night…" He indicated the floor just to the side of the bed, watching her face to see how she would react.

"Hmm? Oh, right." She nodded, then folded her legs under her as she began pulling apart the tangle of linens to help him. He quickly piled pillows and blankets on the floor to make a cozy bed for himself. "I feel bad for taking your bed," she said quietly, handing a blanket down to him.

"It's not actually mine," he reminded her dryly. He leaned over to take some pillows from her, and she finally noticed his silk shirt, and the way it hung open, unlike his armor.

"Y-you, your…" she stammered, eyes going wide and her hand half-coming up to point at him.

Fenris looked down at himself, wondering, from her alarm, if there was a spider on his shirt. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he suddenly remembered the way he'd looked at her when he first saw her in ordinary clothes. Sure enough, when he glanced back at Hawke, she was holding her lip between her teeth. _I suppose I can consider that a validation of the care I took getting dressed for bed._

"Is that silk?" she finally asked. He nodded, smiling to himself as he turned away to drop the pillows onto the floor. She cleared her throat. "It's um, very fine. I like the, uh… I like the cut of it, on you."

He usually tried not to feel self-conscious of his markings, but Fenris felt slightly exposed to her tonight. So he crouched, turned away from her, to finish making up his bed. "It isn't actually mine, either, Hawke. I found several in one of the wardrobes, here."

_So if I were to rip that one off you, there would be others for you to wear, _she thought._ Good. _"Oh? A happy coincidence, then, that they fit," she said instead, sounding quite awake now. "But you look far too handsome for going to bed. You look like you should be on your way to a ball."

He gave her a skeptical glance. "Hmph. That would be a sight."

"Indeed," she responded immediately. _Now I really want to see more of his markings. Maker, he can't know how much he is teasing me with just this small glimpse of his collarbone and chest. This is like some Orlesian romance novel, only with him as the repressed Revered Mother and me as the pining lay brother peeking through the keyhole… _

Thinking she was teasing him, Fenris looked at her with a flat expression. However he quickly grew uneasy when he noticed the hungry way she was staring him. Feigning impatience, he rolled his eyes, trying to keep himself from looking or sounding unnerved. "Whatever it is you are thinking, just say it, Hawke."

_Ohhh no, I am not going to admit to undressing you with my eyes, Fenris. _Instead, she cocked her head at him, smiling coyly. "I see you are still wearing my gift." She had noticed the familiar chain hanging around his neck, and her eyes had gleefully followed it down into the black, silky depths of his shirt. "I haven't seen it since you put it on. I've been wondering if it's there, hidden under your spiky armor."

_How often do you have such thoughts, Hawke?_ he was tempted to ask. He reflexively reached for the pewter medallion, feeling it through the silk of his shirt, hanging over his heart. "I have never taken it off."

_That is so sweet that I might melt. If he was any other man, I would think he's trying to seduce me. _She smiled so delightedly that her cheeks dimpled, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Your armor?"

Feeling emboldened by his earlier successes with cards and holding her hands, he leaned against the bed. "You know what I meant. But, perhaps, you want proof."

One of her eyebrows crept skyward as she watched, rather appreciatively, when he pulled the collar of his shirt further open to draw out the medallion to show it to her. _I need a drink,_ she thought, mouth going dry. _Maker, is this what he wears to bed every night? Unbearable thought. I might never get to sleep peacefully again, knowing he's laying here, looking so… mmm._

He held the pewter amulet out to her, and she caressed it, and his fingers. Her heart thrilled that she could finally touch him, albeit in a small way. "Yes, that's the one, all right," she confirmed, a little breathlessly. "Not that I didn't believe you." She reluctantly pulled her fingers away, afraid she would wind up sliding them down the chain and into his shirt collar.

"I could tell by your face that you wanted a better look," he said seriously. Despite his carefully controlled expression, he felt a smile tug at his lips when she blushed. _You cannot keep your thoughts off your face, Hawke, and I am watching you, now._

She cleared her throat again, turning away to hide her flush and to pick up the cards. "So, a little more Wicked Grace?"

He looked down at his makeshift bed, feeling too wound up to sleep, now. Then he thought about several of the more clever strategies he'd come up with while soaking in the tub. He'd had to think of _something_ besides her, before he'd dozed off. Hawke made a show out of fanning the cards across the coverlet, which caused him to look at her hands and decide that the opportunity to touch her some more was the definite tipping point in favor of staying up a while longer.

Quickly going to snuff the torches so he wouldn't have to get back up, Fenris brought a lit taper over to light the candles in his bed's corner of the room. Then he sat cross-legged on a large pillow and leaned over to prop his arms up on the bed._ I can better watch her sly hands from down here anyway. And possibly peek at what she draws. _"Very well," he said with feigned resignation, "but just a few more hands. Morning will come early."

"It always does," she sighed, getting comfortable by pushing up her sleeves and reclining on one elbow, before she dealt a new hand. Fenris never even thought to check whether all the cards were in the deck.

"And doubtless, you will soon tire… of losing to me," he added, with a cocksure smile, as he picked up his cards.

"Doubtless," she said with a feigned yawn, then a theatrical shudder. "Is it cold in here?"

Fenris sorted his cards with a shrug. "I feel warm, but I just had a bath." He hastily leaned back as Hawke began burying herself suddenly beneath the covers of his bed. He slid the deck away so cards would not spill. _Hmph, the top card is a Serpent. And now, it is the bottom card. Ah, a Knight. Much better for me._ He casually held the deck aloft while she settled in.

Hawke tucked herself in and propped herself up with the pillows. She smiled over at Fenris, who was much too distracted by the overall sight of her to notice that her sleeves were down again. "Much better. Amazingly comfortable bed, by the way. And these sheets? Mmmm, I'm envious." She writhed slightly under his covers.

He eyed her suspiciously as he smoothed out the coverlet, making a flat area for them to play on again. She took the deck from his hand and placed it down. "Hawke…" he warned. _This game makes her almost as brazen as drink. She is trying to distract me, and we've barely begun to play. She does look quite distracting, but I can win this, regardless._

"What? You said it was bedtime. I'm in bed. Now, who's turn is it?" She pointedly concentrated on her cards, brooking no further argument. But she wiggled slightly, tugging on the sheet.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't think I won't toss this bed if you start hiding cards in it," he threatened deviously. "And you, onto the floor. My bed, my rules."

She gaped at him in mock-horror, pulling one of the sheets up to her chin. "_Fenris!_"

He leaned in menacingly, trying not to smile as he wondered what she would do if he came after her under the covers. "Don't 'Fenris' me, woman. I'm on to you." He drew the top card, and cursed under his breath when it was the same Serpent he'd slipped onto the bottom of the deck.

"Not the card you were looking for?" she asked, batting her long lashes at him.

He chucked away a card, scowling when she snapped it up. "I must be quite good, for you to go to these elaborate lengths to beat me."

She pursed her lips, pretending to examine her cards. "I haven't seen enough to know how good you really are." His eyebrow went up at that, but she kept her eyes on her cards. "But I look forward to seeing more." She slowly lay down her hand, discarding the angel of death. Fenris's discarded card had given her a full house, which far outstripped his pair of Daggers.

"I can see that I will get very little rest, with you in my bed," he said as he shuffled and dealt, keeping an eye on Hawke's face, and a thumb on the angel of death so he could deal it to himself from the bottom of the deck.

As she gathered up her cards, she gave him an appreciative look. "Good one. Very wicked. But I wouldn't use that line on Varric, if I were you. Or Isabela, for that matter." He grimaced, and she used his temporarily distraction to palm a card to save for the next game.

They battled hand after hand in this fashion, well past a reasonable hour, but spending a very enjoyable and memorable first night together. Much to Fenris's disappointment, he didn't see Hawke hide any cards under the covers. And much to Hawke's disappointment, Fenris didn't think to check anyway, just in case there were any hidden there from the start. Which, of course, there were.

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**A/N: **Some interactive content for this chapter, oh! First, I uploaded the rules for Wicked Grace on tumblr. I cobbled them together from DA1. plus making up my own to fill in the gaps. It's actually pretty fun, even if you aren't very good at cheating - lotusflwr. tumblr. com

Also, NineShadows has done an amazing illustration of a scene from this chapter! Please check it out at http: / / bit .ly / jumlyP (remove the spaces.) Everything looks so much how I pictured it, I am just in awe! Thanks, NineShadows :)


	30. Interlude: Road to the Deep, Part 1

**A/N: **We'll be doing a string of interludes for a while, since Hawke has left her journal at Fenris's for safe-keeping. I will still be noting the dates, however, so the passage of time doesn't get confusing. Onward (downward?) to adventure!

Posted it in two parts, to help it be more readable, while you still get a nice huge chunk of story! Epic chapter or MOST epic chapter? You be the judge.

If you crave some background music for this long chapter, I recommend "The Dalish Elves' Encampment" from the DA:O soundtrack. It loops so well!

* * *

_30 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon_

The first thing Hawke saw when her eyes fluttered open was Fenris's face. He slumbered peacefully, head turned towards her, still sitting on the floor leaned over the bed. She smiled, assuming she was dreaming, and closed her eyes again. Slowly, realization dawned on her that she was not in her own bed, or in her own room. She opened her eyes again, staring at him for a long moment.

_We must have fallen asleep playing cards,_ she thought groggily, blinking against the bright shafts of sunlight that slanted through the narrow windows. She raised her right arm and saw that, indeed, her hand still held a few Wicked Grace cards. She tried to move her other arm but found that she couldn't. Fenris had her hand firmly clasped in his, in his sleep.

_He held my hand all night. _Her heart started to pound, and she froze. _Andraste's tits, what time is it?_

Hawke bolted upright, yanking at Fenris's unyielding hand as she threw her cards down onto the coverlet. "Fenris! Wake up! It's morning already!" She fished a few more cards out from under the covers and shook several from her right shirtsleeve.

Her tugging pulled him sideways into a patch of sunshine, which caused him to scowl, eyes screwing tighter shut. "I'll pay for my room tomorrow," he grumbled.

_What? He must still be half-asleep, thinking he's at an inn. _She thought about lightly slapping at back of his hand, but decided against it. "Wake _up_, Fenris," she pleaded, leaning down to speak into his ear instead. "Maker, I thought you said you were a light sleeper… come on."

Her entreaties only earned her a snarl. "Go _away_! Ei vento nai mordoi died!" He moved to lay down on his pallet on the floor, still holding her firmly, strong arm dragging her to the edge of the bed. Hawke narrowly avoided toppling onto him, hanging precariously over the side of mattress, clinging to it with her free hand and digging into it with her knees.

_I don't know what he said just now, but it sounded like a threat._ She chewed on her lip as she tried to think of a way to rouse him without having him lash out. She saw his cup of water sitting just underneath the bed, where he'd set it to keep from knocking it over while they played cards the night before.

Hawke braced her feet against the bed frame and slowly let go of the side of the mattress, reaching to dip her fingers into the cup. She flicked her wet fingers at his face, sending small droplets of cool water onto him.

Fenris just grunted, baring his teeth.

"Fenris!" She repeated the motion, splashing him a few more times. "Come on… _you_," she muttered. He squirmed a bit, legs thrashing, though he did not release her hand. She dunked her fingers deeper into the cup, splattering him with bigger droplets. Finally, his eyes opened, and he wiped at his face.

"By all the Old Gods. It wasn't supposed to _rain_," he growled. Then, he saw her leaning over him and he blinked a few times, hastily releasing her hand and scooting backwards across the floor. He sat up, scrubbing at his face again with the sleeve of his black, silk shirt. "Mari… Hawke," he said cautiously, sounding wide awake for the first time.

"Good morning," she responded tightly, struggling to pull herself back onto his bed. "I'm sorry to have so _rudely_ awakened you, but I'm afraid we overslept."

He glanced at the windows, then rubbed at his eyes with one hand. "Ah. I see. Well… I did tell you that it was too late for playing cards, last night."

She quickly gathered up the cards, which had become rather scattered in her tussle to rouse him. "I didn't hear you complaining," she said sardonically. "In fact, the last thing I recall is you, pronouncing yourself the victor of the evening." Hawke cut her eyes to where he still sat on the floor trying to wake up.

He chuckled as he stretched out his stiff legs. "Well, I was."

She rolled her eyes, smiling and bemused. "Oh, what have I unleashed on Kirkwall…" Fenris just gave her a cocky, if sleepy, grin. "By the way…" she asked, "what does 'Ei venti nay… morday something' mean? You said it just now, when I was waking you up."

He frowned. "Do you perhaps mean 'Ei vento nai mordoi died'?" She nodded, and he scratched sheepishly behind one of his long, pointy ears. "It is Arcanum… for 'I do not want to kill you,'" he explained.

Hawke laughed heartily. "Well, that's good to hear." Fenris stood, shaking out his long limbs before stretching, and knuckling the small of his back.

"Are you all right?" she asked, eying him with concern. "That can't have been comfortable, sleeping sitting up like that, all night."

He rolled his neck lithely, though a few vertebrae popped audibly. "I have slept in much less comfortable positions, on many occasions. Slaves get poor accommodations at the best of times, and guarding Danarius often required me to sleep somewhere close by — whether there was room for me, or not." His voice was matter-of-fact, though his closed eyes tightened as he spoke of his former master.

"Oh… I see." Hawke gave him a sympathetic glance, but Fenris was already looking away, scratching sleepily at the back of his head as he tried not to yawn. She chuckled at his adorable morning mannerisms.

"Well, no doubt you'll have plenty of time to walk off any lingering stiffness," she said as she slid off the bed, thinking of the long day's journey ahead. She counted the cards to make sure she had them all as she walked over to her pack to bind them and tuck them away.

Fenris stiffened, tugging at his silk shirt and looking down at himself for a moment, before he realized she wasn't making a double entendre. _I suppose I should count it fortunate that I did not have any nightmares __**or **__dreams about her,_ he thought with a cringe of relief. _There are many aspects to having a houseguest that I had not thought of when I asked her to stay._

"We're already late, so I suppose there's no use in rushing straight out. Still, we shouldn't dawdle." Hawke set her pack onto the bed, gathering her armor up into her arms. "Shall I dress first, or would you like to?"

Fenris made a hasty, polite gesture. "Please, be my guest." _The sight of her first thing in the morning, freshly tumbled out of bed is beyond distracting. It will be much easier on me if she looks like she normally does._

"Won't be a mo," she called over her shoulder, quickly disappearing to the bathing chamber and leaving Fenris standing alone in his room.

After she'd gone, he sat heavily on his bed, expression going thoughtful. _I slept so… peacefully. Even moreso than when… well._ He tried not to think of the things he usually thought of, and did, before having an especially restful night, lately. But it was difficult, considering that it involved thoughts of Hawke, herself.

He looked out the window instead, trying to judge the time and figuring it was significantly past dawn. _Hmm. Well, there is nothing for it now. We will just have to get going, as quickly as possible._

He got to his feet and went over to the wardrobe, pulling his silk shirt over his head and swapping it for his tunic. He also pulled out the cloak Hawke had bought for him when they'd had to help Aveline in the rain, carrying it over to his pack to wrap the three bottles of wine in it so they wouldn't knock against one another and break.

Fenris quickly did up the clasps of his tunic before pulling on his breastplate and pauldrons, settling them on his shoulders firmly. He tugged at the leather straps that trailed down his arms, fastening the buckles at his elbows and forearms, flexing each arm a few times to ensure the fit was snug. Then, he threw his belt over his shoulder and sat on the bench to wait for Hawke to finish. He set his vambraces and gloves beside his pack, to don after his turn in the lavatory.

_All I need do is wash my face, use a little tooth powder, and comb my hair,_ he thought, going over his mental checklist before they left. He looked down and saw his bare feet, then leaned to retrieve his gaiters from underneath the bench. He pulled on the soft spirit leather stirrups that protected and supported his ankles and the tender arches of his feet. _Then I'll pick up my sword and pack, and we can go._ He straightened, then drummed his fingers against his leg impatiently.

_I'm pretty much ready, already. So what is taking her so long? _His leg began to bounce as he felt a rather urgent call of nature, as he was not used to a delay in his morning routine. He glanced at the windows, but the fleeting thought of relieving himself into the courtyard below quickly fled at the thought of Hawke returning and discovering him. He sighed heavily. _Women._

After a minute, Fenris stood and began to pace, mumbling a litany of complaints under his breath in Arcanum. The chantry bells rang a few minutes after that, and he heard Hawke swearing from the next room over, as the number of tolls indicated they had indeed slept away most of the morning.

"Andraste's pierced navel, _tenth bell_?" she wailed, her voice carrying thinly underneath the door of the bathing chamber. Fenris chuckled, wondering how Andraste would look in person if half Hawke's swears about her were true. _Quite a sight, though whether she would look deific, or horrific, is another matter entirely…_

He finally heard the door creaking, and he quickly gathered up his things, feeling rushed — for a number of reasons. Hawke entered the room looking fresh-faced, and surprisingly alert for her claims of not being a morning person, but Fenris was in too much of a hurry to be able to fully appreciate it. He did, however, pass close enough to her to catch a whiff of her soap, which she'd used to wash her face and hands.

"Sorry I took so long. Want to make as good an impression as possible, now that I'm making us late," she explained as he zipped past. She smiled after him as he left, enjoying the sight of him in his armor anew, after having seen him in more relaxed clothing just minutes ago. _He truly is perfectly handsome._

She busied herself making his bed and stacking up the linens and pillows for his pallet, before draining his cup of water and putting it away. Then she strapped on her daggers, did a quick double-check that she had packed everything away, and took one last look around his room before shrugging on her travel pack.

"I guess that's everything, then," she said with a slightly mournful tone, regretting that her short time alone with Fenris was coming to an end. _It will be weeks until we can hope to be alone like this. _She sighed, resettling her pack on her shoulder. _Oh well. We should slow down, regardless._

Fenris returned much more quickly than she had, and within minutes they were both ready and leaving his mansion.

"Does it feel strange to be leaving, after having stayed so long?" she asked as he wrestled the swollen front door shut.

"Leaving? No," he said with a grunt, reopening the door to slam it shut again. "Leaving is easy — I do a lot of that." She chuckled. "Returning… that will be the strange part." He finally got the door to close and turned to head down the street. He stopped after only a few steps.

Hawke, who had been following close behind, pulled up short. "Forget something?" she asked, curious. Fenris's brow was furrowed. He glanced at her wordlessly, then reached into a pouch at his belt, pulling out his large iron key before turning back to the door. "I thought you said you never locked your door?" she asked, surprised.

He fit the key into the lock, turning it with some effort. "I… don't," he said thoughtfully. "But your journal is inside. It would not do for someone to walk right in and take it." He turned back to Hawke with a small smile. "This way they'll at least have to work for it." She smiled back as he tucked the key away, and they turned to walk towards the Chantry.

_I… have never had anything that needed protecting,_ he thought. _Even if my old sword, Lethendralis, was taken, I would not really feel the loss. _He glanced over at Hawke, who walked beside him, face screwed up in concentration as she doubtless fretted about the expedition._ But I have sworn to protect her, and that includes her private thoughts. Even if I can't read them, others could._

He felt an odd swell of determination in his chest. _I will keep her safe. That is why I am here. I owe her a debt — and I have made promises, to Aveline and Bethany. And to Hawke herself, though she might not remember asking it of me, as full of brandy as she was. _He rolled his eyes, though he more fondly recalled the memory of that night now, since she'd repeated that she needed him while sober. _Well, mostly sober, _he thought, as the wine in his pack sloshed.

_I still do not claim to understand this thing between us, but… I am no longer as apprehensive about it as I was, then._ He looked down at his hands, which he had purposely left ungloved for the time being. As they walked down the steps to the Chantry square, nobles and servants pushed past as usual, hurriedly traveling up and down. He took Hawke's hand to help her navigate the busy stairway, the feel of it both strange and right to him, simultaneously. _It does feel liberating, to be able to just… take her hand, like any normal man._

Still, he released her once they were safely down in the courtyard, only nodding curtly to her murmured thanks. Together, they angled their way across the square, heading first to buy breakfast.

"Being hungry won't set the sun back to the horizon," Hawke observed drolly as they entered the Hightown Market. "May as well be chewed out by Bartrand on a full belly." She handed Fenris some coin. "Buy some fruit, please, would you? Apples, oranges… oh, and pears. Just a few of each will do. I'll take care of buying the pies."

Fenris nodded, heading over to the stall she indicated, just across from a weaponsmith's shop. The old stall-keeper was busily shining apples with a pristine, white cloth, lining up each piece of fruit meticulously in a straight line. _I suppose the nobles want even their food to look perfect_, Fenris thought dryly.

"Good morning, messere," the old man greeted warmly. Fenris's eyebrows went up, and he looked over both his shoulders, to see if a noble had come up behind him to purchase something; he was typically ignored by the Hightown merchants. But there was no one behind him. He turned back to the fruit merchant, brows now drawn down quizzically.

The white-haired stall-keeper laughed a wheezy, warm laugh. "Ah, so what can I do for you? I have many lovely fruits today, take your pick! Or I can recommend something, if you wish."

Fenris shot the old man another curious look, hesitating before he spoke. "I… wish to purchase a few apples, oranges and pears. Ones that will travel well," he explained cautiously. _If this old man means to mock me or overcharge me, I will not hesitate to look elsewhere. I will not have Hawke's coin wasted on account of my appearance._

The fruit seller nodded with understanding, wagging a sage finger in the air. "I understand. I have just what you need." He glanced down at his feet. "Excuse me, boys, but you'll need to move for a moment. I have a customer."

A familiar, squeaky voice echoed from beneath the wooden fruit stall. "Right, we'll take our slates over here, to practice. Come on, Sym." Fenris groaned quietly when, from under the fruit seller's table, emerged Vashyn, the elf delivery boy that Hawke had sent around to his mansion with his sword, a few days ago. Behind him was a smaller elf boy, obviously a younger brother from his similar features.

Vashyn's eyes went wide when he saw Fenris, then he grinned. "I thought I recognized your voice, mes… uh." He nudged the smaller boy in the ribs, whispering loudly. "He's the one I told ya 'bout! See? And he's got the sword I told ya 'bout, too! It weighs a _ton. _But… he weren't wearin' that armor, last time!"

Fenris rubbed at the back of his neck, hiding his eyes behind his hair. _Not this boy again…_ Both Vashyn and his little brother, Sym, stared agape at him. The old fruit seller paused too, regarding Fenris anew. Then the old man's eyes went to Vashyn.

"This is the man you told me about, Vashyn?" he asked. The elf lad nodded vigorously. The fruit seller smiled, turning back to Fenris. "Ahh, then you get a discount, messere! Thanks to your generosity, these two lads have recently started taking lessons from me."

"We've already learned some of our letters," Vashyn exclaimed excitedly, "and we can write our names, just like you told me to do!" Both Vashyn and Sym held up their slates to show him, though Fenris couldn't make out anything but unfamiliar squiggles.

Already feeling out of place, Fenris now also felt keenly uncomfortable. "I… see. Well, that is… good." He turned away from the elf children and spoke softly to the old stall-keeper. "I apologize, but I am in a hurry. If we could just…"

The smell of Hawke's soap, as well as a melange of meat, fruit, spices, and pie crusts wafted up behind Fenris. His back stiffened and he turned to see her standing at his elbow, holding a whole basket of hand pies. _I was hoping to be gone from here before she arrived…_ he thought irritably.

"Almost ready, Fenris? I've got the pies. Should be enough to mollify everyone, and still have some left over for after dinner, tonight." She smiled at Fenris, then nodded a greeting to the fruit seller, whom she seemed to know. "Good morning, Jonas."

"Almost afternoon, Mistress Hawke!" the old man exclaimed, reaching over to take her hand. She shifted the basket to hold it under one arm, letting him give her hand an affectionate squeeze. He held onto it, looking at her fingers curiously. "I heard at The Hanged Man that you killed a dragon with your bare hands, the other day! Was it this one, the other, or did you need both?" He cackled, but Vashyn and his little brother, who were already excited to see her, began gaping anew.

Hawke laughed, shaking her head, and retrieving her hand with a demure wave. "You heard that from Varric, no doubt. He does love telling stories… and lately, most of them have been about me." The fruit seller shook his finger at her jovially, and she turned to Fenris. "Actually, it was Fenris, here, who got the killing blow. I might have died otherwise, without him there."

Fenris rolled his eyes, trying to hold back a sigh. _I'd rather not have my name bandied about in connection with Varric's outrageous tales… _He focused his gaze intently on the fruit seller. "Yes. Well. About the fruit…? Half a dozen of each should do?" He glanced at Hawke for confirmation, and she nodded.

"Right away!" The old man bustled about, gathering up the produce. "Generous, valiant — and a friend of Mistress Hawke? You definitely get a discount, messere," he said with a chuckle.

Sym was suddenly standing between Fenris and Hawke, staring up at both of them in mute awe. Hawke looked down, laughing, and ruffling the boy's hair with one hand. "What have you there, Sym?" The small elf child lifted his arms, showing her the slate. "Oh, are you learning your letters, then? That's wonderful!" she exclaimed, crouching down to regard him. Sym gave her a shy smile, then glanced up at Fenris, who looked pointedly away.

"Here, have a pie, then. Learning goes better on a full stomach," she said fondly, pointing out the different flavors and letting the elf boy have his pick.

"I'm learning' too, Mistress Hawke!" Vashyn piped up, coming around to grab a pie for himself. "Your friend, messe… um, Fenris, he was very kind to tip me so well for deliverin' that sword to him that we can pay Jonas to teach us." He took a deep breath, then bit into the meat pie, growing silent as he looked happily between Hawke and Fenris.

Hawke straightened, eyebrow going up as she regarded Fenris, who was now very, very pointedly looking away, fingers impatiently drumming on the fruit stall. "Did he now?" she said thoughtfully. Fenris remained silent.

She glanced back down at the children. "Well, I'm glad for you two. Reading is very important for your futures. Keep at it, and perhaps when I get back from my expedition to the Deep Roads, I'll buy you some books? If you're _very_ diligent in your lessons?"

The boys gasped, simultaneously whispering, "The Deep Roads? Oooh!" and "Books, books, books!"

The old man finally handed a bag of fruits to Fenris, who did his best not to snatch them away. "There you are," Jonas said kindly. "Those should travel well enough, though the pears do tend to ripen and bruise quickly. I put them on top — maybe eat them first, eh?"

Fenris nodded hesitantly, then began sliding coins across to the seller, waiting for the man to initiate the haggling. But all he got was an emphatic wave of hands. "No, no. No charge, not for you and Mistress Hawke," the stall-keeper said.

"Now, how are you ever going to expand your business like that, Jonas?" Hawke chided, stepping up to slide more coins across.

"I've already been able to hire some extra help, now that I'm tutoring the boys. Eventually, I hope to be able to expand to the Alienage. A secondary market, for the leftovers, you see."

"That is a marvelous idea," she replied. "Which is why I insist that you accept at least this much. Think of it as an investment, if not payment, all right?"

Fenris busied himself putting the fruits in his travel sack, ignoring Hawke's pleasant banter with the merchant and the way the elf children were watching him intently.

"After a few more years of making weapons, I'll have arms that big," Vashyn whispered to his little brother, who nodded in silent agreement. They both followed Fenris with their eyes when he straightened. Vashyn added, in a rather loud aside, "That sword really does weigh a ton, and look how he's got it on his back, and a big pack, besides!" Sym took a few steps back to get a better look, nodding again.

Fenris turned and walked a few steps away, sighing. _I am rather conspicuous here. This is why I do not come out if I do not have to. I must remember to avoid walking through here, lest these children waylay me. _He glanced back at them, shaking his head at their worn clothes and pie-smudged faces. _I remember when I assumed that elves outside of the Imperium would be better off. I was a fool._

Hawke made her goodbyes, then joined Fenris. "You have two worshipers. Those boys think you are some kind of elven god." She grinned at him, but he just frowned. She leaned in closer, whispering, "Did you really give Vashyn over _two_ _gold_ as a tip, so he and his brother could have lessons?"

He shrugged. "It was Danarius's coin, not mine. I just grabbed a handful to get the boy off my doorstep, before everyone in Hightown noticed me. He was rather… talkative."

She laughed, reaching down to give his fingers a quick squeeze. "You took my suggestion and used the coin you got from selling Danarius's things to do something good? Fenris, you're… that's… wonderful!"

He involuntarily curled his hand into a fist, surprised by her touch, but luckily she had already pulled her hand away. "It was nothing. As I told you before, I was half asleep when he came banging at my door. It hardly matters."

She leaned away, incredulous. "Helping two elf children learn how to read and write? It will make a world of difference in their lives. Even if that _was_ a small thing, every little bit counts." She gave him a fond smile, and he had to look away.

"You are too optimistic," he finally grumbled, feeling extremely self-conscious about his own hidden illiteracy. "It was nothing," he repeated.

_The way she speaks about reading and writing… she would be horrified if she ever learned that slaves in the Imperium are permitted to learn neither. No doubt she would pity me if she knew that I never learned. _He could feel his mood souring, thinking of the many things she did not know about him, things she doubtless would not like.

"Perhaps you are too pessimistic," she teased. "But enough. You can't make me think less of you, and we're late, besides."

He followed her the short distance up the market steps and around the corner. They entered the courtyard out front of the Dwarven Merchants Guild, where Bartrand was supposed to be waiting with the rest of the expedition crew.

"Oh, Maker… Bethany," she whispered, looking pale and panicked when she saw her sister. "I had hoped maybe we weren't too late."

"Marian, there you are," Bethany said, hurrying over. Fenris furrowed his brow as he looked at her, for she looked a little drawn, and she'd been leaning against the wall, completely alone. _She looks like she's been… crying._

"Fenris, take the pies, would you, please?" Hawke asked, giving him a worried look. He accepted the basket as she pulled Bethany aside.

"What's wrong? You look… terrible," Hawke said, looking up into her sister's downturned face. Fenris could easily overhear their hushed conversation, and he was too curious and concerned to move away.

"It's… nothing. I'm fine. Just a… stressful night. It's fine, really." Bethany had her arms crossed and her shoulders were hunched.

"Did you and Anders… quarrel?" Hawke asked. Bethany looked away, and Hawke's tone turned teasing. "Do you want me to stab him?"

That only seemed to make Bethany feel worse. "It doesn't matter. I told you before that he wasn't interested in me like that. I should never have let myself get my hopes up, I should have just left well enough alone. It is my own fault."

Hawke put her hand on her sister's shoulder. "I'm sure it's just the stress of the expedition. He's probably got a lot on his mind, and didn't know what he was saying. Everything will be _fine_."

Bethany shrugged. "It isn't anything I wasn't expecting, or that I was surprised to hear. He is as unhappy this morning as I am, I suspect." She glanced at Fenris, then gave Hawke a wan smile. "But never mind. We have the expedition to get on with, don't we? Varric wouldn't tell me anything, except to wait here for you."

Fenris could see Hawke's back stiffen slightly. _Well, her plan is for naught now. I suppose her stay with me was pointless… _But he found that despite the anxiety her visit had caused him, he couldn't really regret it, whether it had served its original purpose or not.

Hawke's sister glanced at Fenris again, then leaned in closer to Hawke, looking a little more animated. "Did you really stay with _Fenris_ last night? I was surprised when I didn't find you at The Hanged Man, but I thought for sure Varric was making it up. He was very reluctant to tell me, when finally I got here an hour ago." Bethany smiled, though she still didn't look as cheerful as she usually did.

"It's… not what you think," Hawke said hesitantly, clearly searching for some way to salvage the situation and break the news to Bethany that she would be remaining behind.

"Well, look who decided to show up," Anders said, approaching Fenris, with Varric close behind. "I thought you lived up here, in Hightown." He stopped a few feet away, glowering at Fenris more than usual. "How is it I climbed all the way from Darktown, hours ago, and you couldn't be bothered to walk down the street until now?"

Fenris was sorely tempted to hurl the basket of pies right at Anders's smug face. Instead, he retorted, "And here I was hoping that you'd back out at the last minute. Didn't you run away from the Gray Wardens because you couldn't handle the Deep Roads?" He looked away to end the exchange.

"Morning, elf," Varric said with a nod of greeting. "Don't mind Blondie. We've got a situation with the ox-drivers that Bartrand's been working on for the past few hours. I don't think Hawke's plan would have come off anyway, even if you two weren't… late," he finished, rubbing at the back of his neck, looking away.

Fenris's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you implying, dwarf?"

Varric shrugged. "Nothing. I know when to keep my ear to the ground, and when not to." He looked over to Hawke, who was still whispering with Bethany. Both sisters were eying Anders, but whatever it was that Hawke was asking, Bethany seemed to be refusing to speak about it.

Fenris was too startled by Varric's assumption to eavesdrop on their conversation. "Not that it is any of your concern, but we stayed up too late, playing cards."

Anders snorted in disgust. "Oh, yes. That's _original_."

Varric just waved his hands. "It's none of our business, elf. No need to explain." He looked at Hawke again, clearly impatient to get her attention and move off of the subject.

Fenris felt his hands tighten on the basket, and he gave Anders his most withering glare. "No doubt your own evening went well." He cocked his head in the direction of Bethany.

Anders went rigid, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Shut up. You know nothing about it… pie boy." He gestured derisively at the basket Hawke had left Fenris holding. Then Anders turned away, scowling, and he stomped across the square to sit underneath a large statue of a dwarf.

"This is off to a fantastic start…" Varric muttered. Then he hesitated, eying Fenris. "_Are_ those pies? Give me one, would you? I could use a distraction about now." Fenris sighed, feeling utterly ridiculous as he lowered Hawke's basket of pies so the short dwarf could choose one. "Hey, is this one pork?" Varric asked, wiggling his fingers hungrily.

"I don't know," Fenris growled angrily, shoving the basket into Varric's hands. "You take them." Varric carried the pies away to set onto one of the carts, and Fenris turned to look at Hawke. She and Bethany were giggling together, now, looking at him again.

He gritted his teeth, turning away to find a dark corner to skulk in. _Of all the ridiculous… The last thing I wanted was more scrutiny. Let's just get on with this expedition. Getting out of this city and having some grass under my feet will be a pleasant change from all this… attention. _

Fenris leaned against the wall, noticing that just about everyone was already looking at him. He moved deeper into a shadow. _They can't all possibly think we… No, perhaps it is just my appearance. Still, I should avoid being alone with Hawke until all this nonsense dies down. With nothing better to do on the road, these caravans always thrive on gossip. _

He thought back to any number of times he'd done mercenary work escorting merchants and travelers, whenever anyone going in the right direction had trusted him enough to pay him. His most recent such job had been with Anso, which was how he'd wound up in Kirkwall in the first place.

In lieu of payment, however, he'd asked Anso to hire someone capable of diverting the bounty hunters, not expecting so many, nor Danarius himself to be in Kirkwall— and certainly not expecting Hawke.

He sighed as the thought about her, stomach feeling too knotted to have either a pie or a piece of fruit. _She is a remarkable woman, but… I cannot do this. Not now. Not with so many eyes, always watching. It's too much, too fast. _

_I will focus on the expedition,_ he decided. _Afterwards… we will see. _He felt slightly less uncomfortable just having resolved the matter in his own mind.

Hawke finally left her sister's side and headed towards him. Fenris, now determined to keep things professional, reluctantly walked out to meet her in the middle of the square. "Yes, Hawke?" he asked firmly.

She gave him an odd look, then chuckled, "Hello." He blinked at her, waiting. Her eyebrow went up a fraction, but she continued. "I… just wanted to see if you had any suggestions about what to do about Bethany."

He glanced at Bethany, then looked back at Hawke with a small shrug. "She's your sister. Why not simply tell her the truth, and be done with it?" It was what he'd thought all along.

Hawke's mouth flattened into a line, and her brow furrowed. "Because that would… crush her tender heart? I thought we talked about this."

"No, not really," he said dryly. "You spoke about it with Aveline, and I happened to be there. But we never discussed it."

She looked taken aback by his tone. "I'm sorry, Fenris. That was never my intention." She reached out for his hand, but he crossed his arms.

"A lot of things happen without you intending them to," he growled. "You are reckless, but it's others around you that seem to bear the cost." He tried to keep his voice down, not wanting to make a further spectacle since they were in the center of the square.

Hawke recoiled as if she'd been slapped, blinking furiously. "I… I see." She regarded him, eyes searching his smooth face. Fenris stared hard back at her, wishing many impossible things — that they had simply awoken on time, that her sister wasn't a mage, that his markings didn't make him stand out everywhere he went.

_I wish none of this was necessary. I wish, if it's going to be assumed we spent the night together, that we could have. _Even as he thought of having her in his bed, he feared the agony of his markings. It brought an echo of the ritual to the surface, further ruining his mood and hardening his grim expression.

Her hurt expression gradually faded to disappointment, then coolness. "Well. It looks like I'm on my own, then. Thank you for your… input." She walked over to Varric, giving Fenris one final look over her shoulder.

Fenris regarded the flatness in her eyes with a pang of regret, but he kept his expression carefully controlled, knowing that distancing himself was for the best._ Last night is over. This is today, and we need to be focused on the expedition. Recklessness and distraction will serve no one._

He moved back to his shadowed corner to watch and wait. _At least Anders is staying away from her, too, _Fenris noted, eying the mage where he sat diagonally across the square, the two of them as far apart as anyone could physically get in the open space. _Pie boy. What an ass._

Hawke and Varric conversed for a time, then began speaking to the handful of human and dwarf hirelings. Fenris scowled, noting that he was the only elf. His scowl deepened further when he noticed, too, that, after Hawke introduced herself to the small cluster of human men and moved off with Varric to inspect the carts, they all eyed her, jabbing one another in the ribs.

_They look like a pack of wild dogs, waiting to descend on a doe._ Fenris pulled out his gloves and slipped them on. _Not a one of them looks man enough for her,_ he thought derisively. He flexed his hands experimentally, watching the segments of the claws bend and curve. _Let one of them get overly familiar. If she can't run them off, then I will see to it. She has worked too hard to get here to be treated like chattel. _He shot a grim look at the men, though he doubted any of them were watching _him _at the moment.

"Sodding ox drivers are more stubborn than their sodding oxen! We'll just have to pull the sodding carts ourselves once we're in the Deep Roads, sod it." Bartrand roared to no one in particular as he strode out of the Guild hall and into the square, before catching a glimpse of his younger brother. "Varric! Is that partner of yours here yet? Ancestors know, we need to get this damn expedition on the road. I've wasted enough damn time this morning."

Hawke strode into the middle of the square to meet Varric's surly older brother. "I'm ready," she said, nervously glancing at her sister. "Let's get started."

"Then let's not waste any more time." Bartrand waved his hands emphatically, and everyone drew near. Fenris begrudgingly left his corner, going to stand by Bethany, since she happened to be as far away from Anders as he wanted to be. It also happened to put him near Hawke, but he pointedly did not look at her, and he kept his face neutral. She did not look at him, either.

"We've chosen one of the hidden entrances," Bartrand continued, still hollering. "The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, ready for a good deflowering. Ha!" He made a pumping motion with his arms and hips.

Varric, who was on the other side of Fenris, leaned over, muttering, "Now there's an interesting image." Fenris had to keep from shaking his head, and Hawke made a shooing motion at Varric behind her back. Bartrand's little brother seemed the only one eager to interrupt his… impassioned speech.

"It'll take a week for us to get to the depth we need, and there are bound to be leftover darkspawn from the Blight," Bartrand explained, elaborate mustache waggling as he turned in a circle to fix everyone with his hard, steely blue-gray eyes. Fenris glanced down at Varric, wondering if two brothers could be any more different.

Bartrand's gaze settled on Hawke. "Big risks, big rewards," he said grandiosely.

"We shouldn't be taking any needless risks," she said firmly, drawing herself up and looking around the group.

_I couldn't agree more, _Fenris thought, wondering if she'd said it as a result of their earlier quarrel.

"This isn't a foolish endeavor. This will work! Now before we…" Bartrand cut off as a mabari began to bark and heads started to turn. "Wait. Who invited the old woman?"

Hawke stiffened when she heard the barking, and she pointedly did not turn. Fenris could hear her swearing a blue streak under her breath. He turned to look himself, just as Ruff dashed past his legs to circle Hawke. The mabari broke off his frantic tear to whuffle at Fenris himself for a moment, then Bethany and Varric, too, before going to sit at Hawke's feet.

_Even her dog avoids Anders,_ Fenris noted smugly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ser dwarf, but I need to speak with my children."

Fenris recognized Hawke's mother's voice from the time he'd breakfasted with her family, just shortly after they'd met. _And from eavesdropping on her conversation with her daughter, the night I followed Hawke home._

The memory of that conversation put him in mind of Leandra's hopes to marry Hawke into the nobility, which further struck at Fenris's mood. _I keep forgetting that the end goal of this entire expedition will likely put Hawke on an entirely different level. As if we weren't far enough apart, already._

Bartrand threw his hands up in the air at the interruption and began pacing restlessly, muttering. Varric moved to intercede, since Bartrand shook like a kettle that was about to start full on whistling.

Bethany stepped forward before Hawke did, pulling their mother aside from everyone. "Mother!" she pleaded, "I told you not to get involved with this!"

Hawke walked over, Ruff at her heels, to join the rest of her small family. Fenris watched and listened in, telling himself that he could not help it if they chose to converse within range of his hearing.

Leandra wrung her hands, looking worriedly at Hawke when she finally joined them. "Marian, I just want to know one thing: are you planning on taking Bethany with you?"

Hawke rubbed at the back of her neck, glancing at her sister. "I… hadn't decided yet," she lied.

Bethany gave her sister a glance, but quickly turned back to Leandra. "Mother… I'll be fine, I _want_ to go."

"It's not fine!" Leandra cried, looking frantically between her children. "You can't both go! What if something were to happen to you!" Her words echoed throughout the square, and everyone turned to stare.

Fenris felt a pang of chagrin for Hawke. _I see now why she wanted to avoid having her mother see her off, at least._

Leandra turned to Hawke fully, taking her hands in her own. "You, Marian, I understand wanting to do this. But leave your sister here, I beg you!"

Bethany's dainty hands made fists at her sides. "It's the templars or the darkspawn, Mother," she said quietly. Fenris could only just make it out with his keen hearing. "At least I'm allowed to fight darkspawn."

Bartrand called over to them, despite Varric's attempt to stave him off. "Well, you're not going to be able to take everyone, anyhow. You'll need to decide. You, Varric and two others, girly."

Fenris felt surprisingly fidgety as Hawke turned to her sister. She spoke gently. "If that's the case, Bethany, then I'm afraid the other two should be Fenris, and Anders. I'm… sorry."

Bethany blinked a few times, then looked away. "I guess you didn't know Varric was in your four… but I suppose I can see the sense in your choices. Anders is a Grey Warden, and a better healer than me. And Fenris… well." She shrugged, giving Hawke a small smile. Hawke returned it weakly.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Leandra said, hugging Bethany sideways as she squeezed Marian's hand.

"Are you _sure_ about this, sis?" Bethany asked, stepping forward. "I hope you're not just trying to protect me."

Hawke chuckled. "Trust me, this is no picnic. I'd stay if I could." She gave her sister a smile, then enveloped her in a tight hug.

Fenris doubted anyone but he could see the way Hawke's smile did not quite reach her eyes, and the way she bit at her lip while she embraced Bethany. And he was certain that only his sensitive ears could detect the slight tremor in her voice that betrayed her torn emotions.

_Perhaps,_ he thought with concern,_ Hawke was not wrong to attempt to spare her sister's feelings. If I had family, I would like to think I'd want to protect them. She's leaving Bethany in danger, regardless — leaving her upset does not help matters._

Doubt began to eat at him. _I keep accusing her of recklessness. Perhaps much of it is a willingness to sacrifice herself to take care of others. I could not even put up with a few snide words from Anders for her — instead I blamed her as the cause of my discomfort. _The thought made him feel inadequate. _I cannot remember taking care of anyone but myself. I am no good at this. It is yet another way that I am too broken to understand her. _

He clenched his fists, aware of the biting pressure of the leather of his gloves on his fingers, and the cold, pinprick feel of the claws digging into his palms — the direct opposite of the soft warmth of Hawke's hands in his, last night. _Having someone to care for is… costly. Can I ever hope to be able to pay that price, when I have nothing?_

"Anders has already spoken to the mage underground about looking out for you," Hawke whispered to Bethany. "And Aveline will be here to check on you, and Mother. And you've got Ruff. You did well when Carver and I had to go, and this will be much shorter. Everything will be fine."

She released her sister, and Bethany stepped back with a resigned shrug. "Fair enough. I hope you're right."

Leandra gave her eldest daughter a quick hug, then stayed leaned into whisper into Hawke's ear. Fenris's ears were good enough to pick up this hushed conversation, too. "Marian… I see that you are taking that tall elf you are so fond of with you. I don't mean to pry, but I noticed you did not come home last night…"

Hawke glanced back at Fenris, then gave a beseeching look to the heavens before turning back to her mother. "Mother. For the love of Andraste, I beg you, please. Not _this_ speech… not here, not now…"

Leandra pressed a hand over Hawke's stomach, still whispering. "I know all my warnings about, well, _this_ sort of thing go unheeded with you. Just… be careful. It would be a difficult thing for you to find yourself… _heavy of womb_, in the Deep Roads."

Hawke's cheeks went utterly scarlet, and she smacked her mother's hand away. "Maker, no. No. This isn't happening. This is _not_ happening." She moaned the words, burying her face into her hands. "Please just go, Mother. We have to get underway."

Leandra continued, undeterred. "I know it's been well over a year since John died, and I'm happy if you've found new companionship…"

Hawke groaned for a moment, then sighed. "I am _not_ having this conversation, Mother. You realize he can probably hear you, don't you? Void open up and take me now, I beg…" Her mother tried to speak again, but she held up a hand, quietly growling, "_Nothing. Happened. _All right?"

It was Leandra's turn to sigh. "It's not my place to pry into your affairs, darling. Andraste knows, I would even welcome grandchildren. Half-elven would be just as precious to me. Just remember that there are consequences to living dangerously — you are younger still than I was when I had you. Just… take your time."

Leandra looked over as she spoke, giving Fenris a smile and a nod. Hawke very pointedly did not look back at him, her posture slumped and utterly defeated.

Bethany gave her sister a piteous look, then looked to Fenris and shrugged apologetically. For his part, Fenris was utterly dumbstruck. _Grandchildren? John? Heavy of… womb?_ He could not think any further beyond those three thoughts in his state of bewilderment.

"Goodbye, Mother," Hawke said firmly, drawing herself up and giving Leandra a quick peck on the cheek. "I will see you when I return, and we _will not_ discuss this again. _Ever_." Leandra looked suitably mollified having delivered her full speech, and she moved to her youngest daughter's side.

Hawke patted her dog on the head, cooing, "Take care of everyone, all right? And bite Gamlen every once in a while, to keep him on the up and up. Good boy." Ruff barked once in acknowledgement before moving to sit protectively between Leandra and Bethany.

Hawke gave Bethany's hand one last squeeze before turning and rejoining the group. Fenris did not know whether or not she looked at him, because he was still reeling from the latest escalation in scrutiny of his night with Hawke.

She stood apart from everyone, not just him, holding her chin high. Her expression was defiant, if a little flushed. Everyone, except Fenris, stared at her. Varric coughed into his hand, discretely saying Bartrand's name, spurring his brother back into action.

"Personal drama over with?" Bartrand groused loudly. Hawke nodded once, jaw set and eyes firm with resolve. "Then let's get underway."

The expedition crew all lined up, carts behind them, readying to set out towards the east. Fenris had just enough awareness to throw his travel sack into the back of one of the carts before lining up numbly, behind Varric.

Hawke lined up on the far side of Bartrand, still looking guarded and determined. Anders planted himself at the end of the line, as far away from Hawke as he could. Fenris found he was incapable of being surprised by even that, in his state.

"Been a long time coming, eh, Brother?" Varric said, eyes gleaming as he grinned at Bartrand.

"That it has," his brother agreed. Then he marched forward, pointing dramatically. "The Deep Roads await!"

With Leandra and Bethany watching and waving, the group surged forward, carts rolling behind, and the expedition to the Deep Roads finally got underway.

* * *

Their group was well outside of Kirkwall before either Hawke or Fenris felt remotely like themselves again. The feel of the road and the quiet sounds of the countryside were familiar to Fenris, and they helped ease his tension the further away from the city they went. Hawke busied herself socializing, distributing pies while she spoke charmingly with each member of the expedition, trying to repair some of the damage done to her reputation by her mother's appearance.

"Mothers, am I right? But what of your own mother? Ah, well no doubt she will be worried after your safety, too. We will take every precaution to keep you from harm. I fought darkspawn at the Battle of Ostagar, and managed to survive _that_. Yes, indeed. No, this should be easier, by far. But here, have a pie, won't you?"

Fenris heard her have similar conversations all throughout the small expedition crew from where he now sat, riding at the very back of the group on the merchant Bodahn's wagon. As usual, everyone seemed to warm to her within moments, whereas he had been utterly ignored.

He had chosen the rearguard so he would not have to watch her, as he kept envisioning that she had a babe on her hip rather than a basket of pies. _The thought of her having children never really crossed my mind._ Even as he thought it, a lingering flash of a dream popped into his mind, only to slip away when he tried to grasp at it. His mouth felt dry, and he quickly took a drink from his waterskin.

_As if I didn't have reason enough to keep my distance_, he thought apprehensively. _I could never see myself as a… a… _He could barely bring himself to think the word 'father.' _I know nothing of my own family, if I ever even had one. And I can barely manage to stay one step in front of the hunters. _

_No, she is beautiful, no doubt, and I desire her. But children? I had not considered that. I will not consider it further. _He shut all thoughts of the matter firmly away, though he still felt uncomfortable. His efforts were not helped by the breeze, which seemed intent on blowing the scent of her new, Orlesian soap back to him.

Hawke slowed her walking as she turned away from conversing with the last hireling, realizing with some dread that she'd saved charming the most difficult member of the expedition for last. _Fenris. Maker, how am I ever going to smooth this over? _Glancing at him did nothing to allay her fears. Though he sat languidly enough in the back of Bodahn's cart, one leg drawn up with an arm propped across his knee, she could see the tightness of his jaw, and the way his gloved hands were fisted.

_I don't have to have eyes as good as his to see he's brooding. _She stood still, letting the procession of carts pass her by, trying to think of what she could say or do to ease his mind. _He was distant, angry even, even before overhearing Mother's ridiculously uncomfortable speech. _

_Why must it always be like this between us?_ she sighed._ I must do something, though. It is my plan that went to shambles, causing this. _She glanced down at her half-empty basket of pies, took a deep breath, then marched resolutely for Bodahn's wagon.

Wordlessly, she fell in behind the final wagon and slid the basket into the back of the cart. She took three quick, running steps, then deftly put one hand on the wooden cart bed, twisting as she hopped to seat herself neatly on the back of the moving wagon, next to him. But despite flashing a smile, showing off her dexterous movements, and playfully swinging her legs, Fenris did not smile or even look appreciatively at her.

_She will not draw me in with her beauty or her silver tongue, like she has charmed all the others._ _I am resolved to remain distant,_ he decided, ignoring her. _We should not even be seen alone together, but I'm the rearguard. Any further back, and I may as well return to Kirkwall. _He was tempted, but he knew he could not abandon her, nevertheless.

Hawke's smile vanished as she blinked at him, stating truthfully, "Well, this feels strange." She looked away to watch Kirkwall recede into the distance, stilling her swinging legs and slumping a bit.

After hearing her sweet-talk everyone for the past hour, Fenris found himself raising an eyebrow at her frank words. _Perhaps she thinks I am not worth the effort? _he thought jealously.

"Hmph." He bit off the noise as soon as he made it, looking away.

She seemed to take the sound as one of interest, still not looking at him as she sighed. "I worked so hard to get here. We all did. To finally be underway should be satisfying, but it just feels… too odd."

Fenris shifted despite himself, feeling much the same way. _Usually, I move on without a second thought, but this time is strange. I travel with others, some whom are already known to me. And I mean to return. But mostly it feels different because of her, of course. For any number of reasons._ He remained silent, still sure that distance was the best remedy for his discomfort.

"Any pointers?" she asked after a moment. "You've done this sort of thing for years, haven't you? You said this morning that leaving was easy." Hawke finally looked to him, her eyes unguarded for the first time since their quarrel over Bethany, earlier that morning. "How do you do it?" she asked quietly.

Fenris felt a stirring of concern when he took in her guileless face. He could see that she looked uncertain, worried, and pained. _She puts on a brave act before everyone else. I thought she would come and try to wave all of this off, or at least partially blame me. So why is she looking to me like this? Why is she asking me, of all people, for advice?_

Confused, he hesitated, before deciding to answer. "I… just do. I do not have a choice. To remain would mean recapture, or death."

Hawke stayed silent at that, thinking back on his tendency to flee or withdraw. _I keep trying not to think about what has happened to him, what his life has been, how terribly alone he was. Given what he's suffered, it is no wonder that he always pulls away. But how can I ever help if the closer I get, the more he seems to want to run? _

She wanted to take his hand, but she knew it would be the wrong move. So she folded her hands in her lap, thumbs tapping together nervously as she stared down at them. "Is it always this hard, being alone?" Her voice was soft and troubled. "Even when I was in the army, Carver was there. I have never left my whole family behind like this… what's left of it. I've never been this alone."

Fenris sat up, rubbing at a distant ache in his chest that her words made him keenly aware of. He stilled his motion when he noticed it. Instead, he sat on the edge of the cart, gripping it with his hands, letting his legs dangle, too. _Perhaps I should walk. End the conversation. We should not be alone together._

"Yes," he admitted instead, without looking at her. "It is always hard. The loneliness can be ignored, sometimes, but… it never gets any easier."

She nodded sadly, twisting her hands in her lap. Fenris found himself growing irritated at her sullenness. _What does she have to be upset about? What would she know of being alone? I always have been, but she is surrounded by people who hang on her every word, even here._

"_You_ are hardly alone," he growled derisively.

She did not become angry. Instead, her gentle murmur eased through the ambient noise, as smooth as a honed blade. "I could say the same to you."

It slipped right under Fenris's guard, biting deep. In the space of a heartbeat, his anger bled away, though it left his chest pained again. _She is… not wrong. Not right, but not wrong, either. Perhaps I am not as alone as I once was. I enjoy following her, talking with her, simply… being with her. I want to remain by her side, but… she doesn't think of the consequences. I must protect her._

Fenris pulled his sword over, then slid off the back of the cart, deciding he would walk. He stopped to hook his sword onto his back as he let the cart move away, carrying Hawke with it. From what he could see of her through his hair, she looked alarmed when he stood still, waiting to follow at a distance. With his long legs, he would easily outstrip the slow procession of oxcarts otherwise. So he let them move ahead, then stalked along at a relaxed pace, determined that he would guard from arm's length — both the carts, and Hawke.

The afternoon was growing humid and hot, and Fenris's prediction about the weather seemed to be holding true. Large clouds drifted past, casting huge shadows across the foothills of the Vimmark Mountains, but there was no feel of rain to them. Sometimes, it would grow quite dark for a minute as a thick cloud passed overhead. Other times, bright swaths of light illuminated everything, vibrantly washing the world with the high, dazzling summer sun.

They traveled in awkward silence, not looking at one another, though he could not help but watch her a little, seated as she was in the wagon in front of him. He observed her obliquely, since he knew he needed to be cautious. Surprisingly, she said nothing for good while; long enough for a number of clouds to come and go, and for him to give up on whether he liked her best in sunlight, or in shadow.

_In the light, everything about her glows. Her skin, her hair, her eyes. But in shadows, she seems to glow from within. And I find I enjoy the challenge of focusing my gaze on her, fighting to see her despite the darkness. I cannot choose._

They were under a particularly deep cluster of clouds when she finally confessed, "I'm so worried about Bethany." He looked up sharply, concerned at the anguished sound of her whisper. His concern turned to discomfort as he realized the sparkle he'd seen in her eyes was partly the beginnings of unshed tears.

Though it pained him, his first instinct was to put her on her guard. "You should be," he agreed. "You have done what you can, but there is little real safety in this world. But what good is worrying about her going to do? You should be more concerned with the expedition." _I hope that will end the discussion, and make her think. Especially before this becomes… teary. _A vision of Aveline's shield loomed in his mind, making him want to flinch.

Surprisingly, Hawke nodded and seemed to regain some of her composure. "Thank you. I… needed to hear that. Varric and Anders keep telling me not to worry, but that just makes it worse." She gave him a smile, eyes clearing a little. "This is why I needed you along. We complement each other well, in many ways."

_I… did not expect that. I thought it would quiet her, or drive her away. _Instead, hearing again that she needed him, along with the flattering phrase they'd exchanged several times the previous night, drove away a good measure of his careful resolve. Fenris found he could no longer ignore the memories of last night.

_It was good to just… live a little, if only for a night. I did not feel alone, did not feel pain, did not have the nightmares._ He looked down at his gloved left hand, turning it open-palm upwards, allowing the full memory of her touch to flood him. It filled the hollow place in his chest, driving back the uncomfortable ache that had gradually crept upon him from almost the minute they'd left his mansion.

Hawke watched him, smiling faintly. _He looks so distant. Maker, last night seems like years ago now. And I still don't know what to say about Mother's… speech. _Falling back on what was routine, she teased, "Thinking about taking off your gloves and having some pies? I won't make you wash your hands this time, since we are on the move." She already had the basket of hand pies in her lap when he looked up at her.

Though Hawke sounded her usual self, Fenris could hear the cautious undertone in her voice. _I preferred it when she spoke to me unguarded,_ he realized, heart draining to emptiness again. _She came to me with her concerns, open as ever before me. I… did this to her. Made her cautious. But I have to be on guard. _His eyes were so familiar with her face that he easily noticed the subtle signs of how out of sorts she was.

Fenris swallowed against the knowledge that he was the cause, but he did remove his gloves and stow his sword before sitting back down beside her in the cart. Despite his thoughts being a tangled knot, his instinct to eat whenever the opportunity presented itself on the road loosened his stomach enough that he felt he could.

They ate in silence, both of them watching the scenery pass behind. The only noise was the squeak of the wagon wheels, the creak of the crates, and the muffled sounds from the other members of the expedition. Fenris numbly ate several hand pies in succession, picking them at random, not caring at the strange order of eating apple, then lamb, then blueberry, then pork. _I want to say something, but… no. Silence is easier, and I know I can bear it, at least._

Hawke thoughtfully ate an apple one in the space it took him to consume all four of his, for her appetite was nearly nonexistent. _Anything I say is likely to drive him further away. Perhaps I should just leave him be, for a time._

When Fenris finished his meal and resumed walking, she climbed fully into the back of the cart, picking up the basket and standing, balancing with practiced dexterity. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she climbed carefully over the trunks and bundled goods, up to the front of the merchant's cart.

"Hello, Bodahn, Sandal. Pie?" she asked, leaning to proffer the basket to the older dwarf merchant, and the younger, simple dwarf that was his son. "Plenty to go 'round, have as many as you like."

"Oooooh, _pie_!" Sandal said, clapping with childlike awe. Fenris saw him pick up a pie in each hand, taking quick bites from one, then the other, heedless of mixing beef and blueberry.

Hawke and Bodahn both laughed fondly. "Don't mind my boy, messere," Bodahn explained, slightly embarrassed. "He gets excited whenever we travel, and it makes him powerful hungry. You would not believe the amount of food he can pack away when the wagon's rolling." Bodahn switched the ox reins into one hand before quickly plucking his own pie out. "Many thanks, indeed! Sandal, be sure to _thank_ messere Hawke."

Sandal paused in chewing a mouthful of blueberried-beef. "Um… thank you," he said, haltingly.

Hawke laughed, leaning over to wipe a smear of blue off Sandal's nose. "You're very welcome, Sandal. I'll leave these up here with you, just don't get carried away, all right? I don't want you getting a tummy ache."

Sandal nodded slowly, then went back to eating, eyes staring blankly up at the clouds.

"You two don't seem the sort to hire onto this sort of expedition," Hawke said conversationally, turning to Bodahn.

He waved a half eaten pie emphatically in the air. "My son and I have _never_ played it safe, _never_ kept to the tried and true roads." Bodahn smiled proudly, though he kept his eye on the road. "In fact, we have just returned from adventures while accompanying the Hero of Ferelden — legendary Grey Warden and vanquisher of the Blight!"

Hawke braced herself against one of the crates as the cart jostled, eyebrow going up, expression curious. Fenris watched her not unappreciatively, for she was leaned forward, well above where he walked. _Surely looking does not hurt,_ he reasoned to himself. _Leandra's concerns hardly involve me merely watching her daughter._

"So you helped to defeat the Blight?" Hawke asked eagerly, her hunger for gossip creeping into her tone.

Bodahn made a small shrug. "In our small way, perhaps. We did not fight at the Grey Warden's side, of course!" Hawke chuckled amiably with him, and Fenris felt a pang of regret that he could not join her in easy conversation.

_Talking to her last night was… enjoyable. But even that required effort. How does she do it? She talks to everyone this easily. Even that insufferable Anders… _He shot a look around the wagons to where the erstwhile Grey Warden was sullenly dragging his feet near the front of the line, leaning heavily against his staff. _At least he's keeping well away from me, and Hawke._

"I hear that the Hero is married to the king, now," Bodahn continued. "Fancy _that_! A Grey Warden queen!" Hawke made an appreciative noise of interest, but Bodahn was already turning his attention back to the road. "Ah, but surely my past is hardly of interest to the likes of you…"

Hawke patted the merchant on the back. "I'll let you get back to your driving, we can gossip later. But I'd love to hear more. Lady Cousland, made a Grey Warden, and queen, now? And this Alistair person on the throne, also a Grey Warden, and King Maric's bastard, from what I hear? It sounds like a terribly interesting tale!"

Bodahn laughed. "Oh, aye! Interesting hardly begins to scratch the surface. And they are a lovely couple. It couldn't have happened to two nicer people." He paused. "Eh, not to say that the Blight and the Archdemon were a blessing. The part that came after. You know what I mean." He gave Hawke an embarrassed smile, and she laughed, slapping him on the back again.

"I like you, Bodahn. You are very pleasant." Sandal tugged on her vambrace, seeking permission for another pie. "All right, but just one more. And yes, I like you too, Sandal. I think we shall all become fast friends." Then she turned away from the dwarves, carefully balancing her way back to the edge of the cart.

"You… make that look easy," Fenris said, trying to keep the envy out of his voice, as she walked off the end of the cart. She twisted in midair as she dropped, easily falling into stride beside him. He was both gratified and disappointed that she kept some distance between them.

"What, that?" she asked with a twirl of her finger, keeping pace with the plodding oxcart. "I wouldn't be much of a rogue if I didn't have a decent sense of balance. No doubt you could do it, too — better than me, I'd wager."

He kept himself from rolling his eyes by looking aside. "You flatter me. But I meant… talking to people." Despite his best efforts, he found his gaze drawn back to her, unable to resist watching her face… and the sway of her hips as she slowly sauntered.

She frowned a little at his words, shrugging. "It just takes some practice. I've had to do a lot of talking, as head of my family." Then she laughed, pushing her hair out of her face as a breeze ruffled it. "Not that I didn't enjoy talking before then. Perhaps a little too much."

Hawke stopped walking suddenly, causing Fenris to pause, too. As he watched, she put a finger to her lips and a hand up to her ear. He listened, expecting to hear the sounds of ambush, battle, or some other emergency. But he heard nothing, save for the rustling of the breeze, a few insects, and the clatter of carts.

He looked around, then gave her a confused glance. She laughed as she lowered her hands. "You see? Just me talking, as usual."

The summer afternoon was growing quite hot, and the others in the caravan had indeed stopped conversing, now riding or walking in tired silence. Bodahn and Sandal, too, had grown quiet in the front of the cart as they ate pies. As the expedition group pulled further away from where Hawke and Fenris still stood in the middle of the road, it began to feel as if the two of them were the only people in the world.

Her quiet laugh seemed to dispel the oppressive, humid air around them, washing over him like a refreshing mist. _Her laugh is priceless_, he remembered thinking last night. The sound of it hammered away at his resolve to remain distant, cracking it.

Hawke resumed walking and pulled a dagger free, tossing it upwards with one hand, sending it spinning expertly through the air. Fenris followed apprehensively, moving even further aside lest he accidentally get stabbed. "Talking is like anything else, Fenris. Practice makes perfect." She kept her attention on her weapon, catching it adroitly when it fell, as if to illustrate her point.

Fenris rubbed his bare hands against his leggings, remembering how he'd said the same thing to her last night, before letting her take his hands. _Practice makes perfect._ Another splintering blow to his decision to remain on guard. He swallowed, trying to wet his throat.

"If that's so true," he said hoarsely, seeking fodder to rebuild his cautious but cracking facade, "why is it, then, that we… argue so much?"

_She will be forced to see for herself that this thing between us is too strained to become anything more. Then I will not have to carry all of this on my own. It is too much, I cannot just push it aside, even with… everything that has happened today to make me rethink this. I am torn, when I should be certain._

The question did not seem to phase her, though she did tuck away her dagger rather than continue throwing it. "Do you know what day it is?" she asked.

Fenris blinked at her, only narrowly keeping from losing his easy stride. "Um. What?" He looked away, trying to remember. "I don't know. Near the end of Bloomingtide, surely?"

She gave him a small smile. "Yes. It's the thirtieth, actually. Tomorrow will be Justinian. Writing in a journal most days, I have gotten used to keeping track of such things." He still regarded her blankly, wondering what it had to do with his original question.

Hawke chuckled tiredly, seeing the look on his face. "Fenris, we met on the _ninth_ of Bloomingtide. That makes three weeks ago, today." He nodded slowly, agreeing with her calculations, but mistrusting it was the actual length of time they had known one another.

_It feels like so much longer than that,_ he thought, brow furrowing.

She smiled uncertainly. "I don't think we've done too badly for ourselves in just three, short, frantic weeks. Considering… everything we're up against."

He only half heard her words, still disbelieving her earlier statement. _Three weeks…_ _No, surely it has been longer._ He stopped walking, meaning to protest.

She halted a few steps after he did, turning to face him. Their gazes met, and before he could speak, she quietly asked, "Do you really think we've done so badly, Fenris? Is it too much? Do you want me to… go?"

Her eyes, once more unguarded, looked up at his with the familiar honest, tender look that he had come to both wish for and dread. But there was fear and hesitation there, too, her entire face looking more wary and sad than he'd ever seen her. As he regarded her, her apprehension only grew, and she pulled her lower lip in to bite it.

Fenris took a single step forward, and he reached out to gently cup her chin, stroking her lip with his thumb to stop her from worrying at it. Her eyes went wide, and she drew in a short breath. It pulled the simple truth from his lips before he could stop to think.

"No."

As he said it, he could feel it echo through his mind as the last shred of his resistance fell away. _No. Not again. Every time, I find myself coming back here, no matter what. _Then his mind rang with the words he'd thought over and over last night, when they'd finally touched. _Yes. This is right. Hawke. Marian._

Hawke smiled, her curving lips brushing against his thumb. The flicker of fear that had been in her eyes evaporated as they slipped closed. She held very still, obviously fighting to not simply go to him.

He noticed the effort she made on his behalf, and it made him ache with both fondness and pain. _So far in so little time, but we have much further still. I rarely think of the future. How could this thing between us be, given another three weeks? Three months? _He hesitated, releasing her. _A year? _

"We have far to go, yet," he said as he started to walk again, thinking the phrase appropriate for many reasons. _The road and the expedition. The hunters and Danarius. The pain and my past. To say nothing of Leandra's particular… concerns._ The last thought made him walk a little faster than was absolutely necessary.

Left dazed for a moment, Hawke turned and took a few hurried steps to catch back up. She and Fenris walked briskly and in silence until the small expedition group was once more just in front of them.

_I suppose that was a good sign,_ she thought to herself, trying to remain calm. She kept her hands at her sides to avoid touching where he'd swept his thumb across her lips. _Now that I suspect Fenris won't run off in the middle of the night because of what Mother said, I need to focus on the expedition. I must not rush this. I must let him come to me, when he is ready._

"Girly!" Bartrand bellowed from the front, his surly dwarven voice echoing down the line of carts. "Varric, where is that sodding partner of yours now? We need a scout for the pass ahead!"

Hawke rolled her eyes, already walking faster. "Girly? I suppose he means me."

"You _are_ the only woman here," Fenris agreed as she passed him. Then he added wryly, "You did say you wanted to be thought of as a woman, first, and an adventurer, second." Hawke gave him a glance, her lips drawn into a sarcastically suffering smile, and he felt himself smiling deeply back. _Yes, perhaps I have been getting better at my flattery. Practice does make perfect, and I enjoy practicing with her._

She turned, deftly walking backwards and leveling him with a meaningful glance. "By some men, more than others, perhaps." Fenris felt his pulse begin to race; his thudding heart was decidedly not from the effort of following Bodahn's slow cart.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I am neither a fool, nor blind, Hawke."

"That's good, since you _are_ on guard back here," she said with a laugh, turning back around. "You keep an eye on the rear, I'll be out front. Perhaps we'll meet in the middle eventually, and we can practice talking then."

"Always a pleasure," he said amiably, watching her go. _She did say to keep a close eye on the rear._


	31. Interlude: Road to the Deep, Part 2

**A/N: **An unlikely inspiration for the chase scene here is Lady Gaga's 'Edge of Glory' — a strangely good song for running to!

* * *

_30 Bloomingtide - 9:31 Dragon, continued_

The sun was drawing down to the horizon, and still the procession to the Deep Roads entrance continued. Fenris found himself looking up at the front of the line often, hoping to see Hawke returning, for he knew she still scouted ahead. Her return would likely signal they had arrived and could halt for the night. _And I will get to see her, again._

"You're so _shiny_," Sandal told Fenris, for about the tenth time. His eyes were still as wide as the first time he'd said it, but his voice became far more reverent with each utterance.

Fenris rolled his eyes, then looked down at the simple dwarf, trying and failing once more to figure out his age. "You keep saying that… boy… dwarf… Sandal. I assume you mean my lyrium markings?"

Sandal's eyes managed to go even a little wider when Fenris deigned to speak with him. He nodded vigorously, somehow keeping his gaze firmly plastered on Fenris's exposed forearm. He pointed, surprisingly steady hands tracing the whirls of the markings in the air. "I like the shiny." The dwarf giggled, then, clapping.

Bodahn looked over his shoulder when he heard the applause. "Eh, my apologies, messere. My boy is something of a savant with enchantments. The only thing he loves more than food is lyrium." He patted the seat of the cart. "Come on, Sandal, that's enough stretching your legs and bothering the messere."

Sandal gradually walked faster, glancing back at Fenris every few seconds until he was seated next to his father again. "He's a _shiny_ elf man," he whispered loudly, leaning over to Bodahn.

Fenris rolled his eyes again, but it was more from the odd experience of having three children in one day staring at him like he was some kind of myth. _Though Sandal hardly looks like a child. It is impossible to gauge his age, though obviously he's much younger than Bodahn. If he works with lyrium, then it is no wonder his mind is not right. _He clenched his jaw. _Just see what it has done to my memory._

His jaw tightened even further when he heard Anders approaching, calling to Bodahn. "Hello, ser dwarf. Marian said she left some pies back here, somewhere?"

The apostate was smiling and patting at his stomach — until he saw Fenris. "Oh." His eyes went flat, and his smile vanished. "Here you are, then. I thought maybe you'd changed your mind and set off on your own, once we left Kirkwall." He reached up into the wagon and grabbed a pair of hand pies, muttering, "You seem like the fly by night sort, always gone before morning."

Fenris suspected that, even if the apostate had had any appreciation for his keen elf ears, Anders still would have ensured his murmur was loud enough to carry. Bodahn cleared his throat, spurring the oxen on a little faster. Anders moved aside to stand, glaring at Fenris, staff leaning against his shoulder while he wrapped the small pocket pies in a blue handkerchief.

"We set out near noon," Fenris retorted, stalking closer as he followed the convoy. "But I thought you took exception at the time of my arrival with Hawke?" Though the assumptions of his night with her had rankled Fenris earlier, he knew mentioning it would irk Anders far more. _What an utter ass,_ he thought.

"What she can possibly see in you is beyond me. She deserves better. You're just a…" Anders bit off his words, shaking his head ruefully and turning to go.

Fenris's hands curled into fists, and he came to a stop, facing where Anders still stood. The carts had already rolled on a short way up the road. "Do you have something you wish to say, Anders?" he growled.

"Usually. But I have control, unlike some." Anders set his jaw, then began striding away.

Torn between showing restraint and letting an abomination have the last word, Fenris resumed walking, staring daggers at Anders's robed back. "Yes, you mages are well known to me for your _control_," he finally sneered. "So tell me, was it you, or your demon who caused Hawke's sister to spend half the night in tears?"

That brought Anders to an abrupt halt. He stood stiffly, only turning his head as he spat, "You know nothing of that, nor of Justice."

"I know enough to see how you led Bethany on. Not that I think she isn't better off, now."

Anders gave him a hard glance. "What do you know of hearts, other than ripping them from people's chests? You are more a monster than a man."

Taking three long strides, Fenris came around and drew himself up eye to eye with the tall mage. He quietly snarled, "I could say the same of _you_."

Surprisingly, Anders shoulders slumped, and he turned away. "Which is why I have held my tongue — though it pains me to see the opening it has left for others. At least last time, it was easier, dealing with a married woman." He trudged away then, and Fenris let him go.

Fenris stared after the apostate for a time before he started walking again. _What married woman? And what does he mean about Hawke? Surely, he cannot have actual designs on her. I assumed that was just… flirting. _Thinking of Anders earnestly pursuing Hawke made Fenris's stomach churn. His face was still screwed up into a disgusted moue when Varric walked down the line of carts, several minutes later.

"Everything quiet back here, elf?" Varric hailed, resting his crossbow against his shoulder.

Fenris shrugged. "As quiet as any escort job I've ever had." _Except for Anders's whining._

Varric nodded. "Good. No doubt any bandits who see that look on your face think twice, then head for the hills. Very uh… effective. You normally charge extra for that, I hope."

Fenris let his face go neutral, though he gave the dwarf a flat look. "Is there are point to this, or is everyone merely taking turns to come and mock me?"

Varric's hands came up defensively. "Easy there, elf. I'm just here to relieve you. Hawke needs help up ahead, finding the Deep Roads entrance. She's got the map, but she said the trees are too thick with foliage. She wants you...r sharp eyes."

Fenris scanned the base of the mountain range to the north, noting that, indeed, it was thick with trees covered in the heavy, green leaves of summer. The sunlight was also starting to slant in from the west, making it even more difficult to see with the deep shadows it cast. "Very well," he said slowly, though he was not that reluctant to go to Hawke if she needed him.

Varric fell in behind Bodahn's cart. "Me and Bianca will cover for you." Fenris began to walk away, but slowed when Varric added, "Hey. What were you thinking about that had you making that face? Maybe I should try it." He held Bianca in his hands now, his short legs plodding more quickly behind Bodahn's cart than Fenris's had had to.

Fenris raised an eyebrow, wondering what Varric would say if he told him that it had been the thought of Anders and Hawke together. But he immediately thought better of it. "I was thinking of… mages."

It earned him a snort and a grin from the more jovial of the Tethras brothers. "Hah! Well, at least you're consistent." Chuckling, Varric waved him on. "Hawke's up the road a ways, waiting for you just around the next bend. You can probably cut across the field, since you're not a wagon. But try to make it quick, would you? My feet are killing me. I can't wait to stop for the night and tell some stories. And drink."

Taking Varric's advice, Fenris struck out across gently sloping field, heading directly for the next turn in the road. The feel of the soft blades of grass beneath his feet were a welcome respite from the hard packed dirt road that he'd been walking most of the day. It had been some time since he'd had grass underfoot — his outings with Hawke had been mostly in the city, or along the coast.

_I have missed this_, he realized, taking a deep breath as the sounds of the expedition crew faded away. _Grass, silence, fresh air, untainted by the press of people. _He lengthened his stride, enjoying the invigorating feel of strolling in relative peace, for once. _If there are any hunters after me, they would be fools to attack in the open like this, with Hawke and the others nearby. _Then he realized, _At least I will not have to worry about them in the Deep Roads_. He took in the surrounding scenery, also realizing that he'd not have fresh air, sunlight or anything softer underfoot than stone and fungi for the next few weeks.

He sighed heavily, watching his feet as he walked, and feeling slightly sour as he thought about the weeks ahead. Then he caught the scent of berries and honey on the wind, and he looked up. Hawke was jogging towards him, waving and smiling.

He did not wave back, thinking it would look foolish, but he did find himself smiling slightly as she drew near.

"There you are. I thought I'd come and meet you, since I can be rather hard to find when I'm sneaking about in the trees." She gave him a roguish grin, her cheeks a little flushed from running.

She lifted one leg, rubbing at her foot. "Maker, but my feet are killing me. We've been walking all day."

Fenris picked up his own feet, looking at first one, then the other. He shrugged. "I've felt worse."

She stiffened slightly, then went about rubbing her other foot through her boot. "I… can only imagine."

He cocked an eyebrow at her reluctant tone, assuming she did not understand why he went nearly barefoot everywhere. "Do not think to put me into boots, Hawke. I prefer having the ground directly under my feet."

Hawke let her foot drop, putting one hand over her stomach as she laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it, Fenris. Maker, the look on your face. You'd think wearing boots was akin to blasphemy."

He looked aside, feeling a little self-conscious that he'd been so vehement in his pronouncement. Then a wry thought occurred to him. "Perhaps it is you who should try going without… _shoes_." Just the word made his toes feel cramped. "But enough. Where do we need to look for this entrance, anyway?"

She pointed back the way she had come. "It is somewhere down along that line of trees. The map indicates there is a stream, and it's somewhere on other side, set into one of the mountainsides."

Fenris started to walk in the direction she'd indicated. "We should move on, then." He took a few steps, then turned to look back when he didn't hear her following.

She had plopped down in the grass and was pulling off her boots. Fenris felt his eyebrow creep up of its own volition as he watched her. _I had forgotten how long her legs looked last night, before her bath._ "What are you doing?" he asked reluctantly, though whether he wanted her to continue or stop, he was not sure.

"Let's see if you're right," she said defiantly, unbuckling her second boot. "My feet could use a bit of breathing room anyway." She wiggled her toes experimentally before standing, then stooped to sweep up her boots.

He shook his head, sighing. "I did not mean now, Hawke. We need to get a move on. We have a ways to go yet. We can hardly make good time with you reading a map while juggling your _boots_."

She pouted a little, holding her boots out. "And _I_ will not carry them, either," he growled, cutting her off before she could ask. He thrust out his gloved hands, claws glinting and curving as he wiggled his fingers. "I will need my hands free, in case we are attacked. Besides, I will also be looking for the entrance. And I am not a… _pack_ _mule_."

Hawke tossed her hair, cutting across the field towards the road. "Fine. I will set them in the road, and doubtless Anders will see them and pick them up for me."

Fenris sighed again, not wishing to think of Anders. "Do what you wish, but I will not wait for you." _Stubborn woman._ He turned and began walking in the direction she'd indicated, though he did glance over his shoulder to watch her.

Hawke sat her boots squarely in the middle of the road, tying one of her spare handkerchiefs through both top buckles. "There. They'll be along in a few minutes, and someone is bound to recognized my handkerchief." She turned around, stepping gingerly across the rocky road until she was back in the grass.

"You really didn't wait!" she shouted with a laugh to Fenris, who was already a good distance down the field. She began to jog after him, muttering under her breath.

Fenris walked backwards, giving an exaggerated shrug so she could see it in the distance. Hawke laughed at that, picking up speed and charging directly for him.

He turned and resumed walking, a little faster. _She isn't too slow, for a human, _he thought when he glanced back again and saw how far she'd already run. He sped up, feeling the competitive drive in him flare to life. _She could never catch up to me if I did not let her._

"Wait! Where do you think you are going?" she called breathlessly when she noticed he was hurrying. "I've got the map, you need to wait for me!"

Fenris looked over his shoulder, pointing down the line of trees, indicating that she'd already told him to follow it until they reached the stream. Then, with a crooked smile, he began to run. Lazily.

"Fenris!" Hawke groaned, looking down at her bare feet with some remorse. But she was beginning to trust her footing on the springy ground, and the cool, soft blades of grass felt comforting. She tried to speed up and began pulling towards him slowly.

He checked on her as he ran, and he felt a laugh spill out of him when he saw the way she was determinedly chasing him down. "I have been chased by faster badgers, Hawke," he called, his gravelly voice easily carrying the taunt across the modest distance to her. She was close enough that he could see her scowl.

Fenris chuckled and began to run faster, just barely starting to push himself. _Varric did say to hurry, and she would likely dawdle if I let her, _he reasoned, feeling both justified and amused.

"Hawke. Not… a badger," she wheezed from surprisingly not far behind him. "Hence… me swooping. Got you!" Her swift appearance made him glance back, startled. She was directly behind him now, and she reached out to tug at his belt. He faltered slightly as she yanked hard on one of his belt pouches, and Hawke managed to smirk at him between her deep breaths. "Surprised?"

The fact that she had actually caught him, and her smug expression about it, urged on his desire to best her. Fenris broke into a full sprint, finding the look of surprise on her face as he swiftly dashed ahead to be deeply satisfying in its own right. _She will not catch me again,_ he decided with a deep chuckle, though he knew they could not run forever.

"_Fenris_!" she called again, clearly beginning to flag. But she did not slow, nor did she give up.

_I do enjoy hearing my name from her lips, _he thought. _Especially so breathlessly._ He continued pushing himself, glad of the exercise, for it gave him a convenient outlet for his deepening arousal.

Occasional, lone trees flew past as they ran, though Fenris kept his eyes on the ground ahead. Their shadows ran on before them, cast long and exaggerated by the slowly sinking sun. Before long, Fenris could see the stream ahead, winding like a thin ribbon down out of the mountains. He slowed, seeing that it was too wide to simply jump across and also concerned for Hawke's feet.

"Getting tired?" she panted, barely managing to pull up beside him when his pace dropped.

He chuckled at her, giving her a wicked look. "Never."

Too exhausted to fully laugh, she just made a strained noise and rolled her eyes. "I'll not lie. I am. You are the victor." She made a slight flourish and bow, then lagged behind again.

Fenris finally slowed to a walk, satisfied that he had won. As he fell into step with Hawke, he took in a few deep, calming breaths. "The stream is ahead. Do you think you can cross it?"

"If you can do it, I can," she said defiantly. She put a hand to her side, giving him slightly pained grin. "Besides, I will have to. You aren't a pack mule."

"I assumed you would carry me," he retorted.

Hawke's laugh trailed off with a grimace. "Don't make me laugh, Fenris. I need to catch my breath; I have a stitch in my side from chasing after you. I don't know why you felt the need to run, when we've been walking all day."

"At least we will have plenty of time to scout for the entrance, now," he pointed out, taking a few calming breaths himself.

She gave him a flat look. "Lucky me. But you… you barely sound winded."

Fenris stopped a few paces back from the stream, where it was still grassy. "I have had to run often, Hawke. Sometimes for days, in fact. This was a mere… footrace, by comparison." Her expression turned a little sad, but with her flushed cheeks and partly open mouth, he didn't particularly mind. _At least she cares. But this was nothing like running from the hunters. No, I do not wish to think on it._

"We can rest before crossing the stream, if you wish," he offered instead, pulling out his waterskin. He unstoppered it and handed it to her.

Hawke accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink. "It isn't so bad, running barefoot through the grass. The roads, I imagine, would be much more difficult, though." She passed the water back to him, and Fenris took a modest drink before slinging it back over his shoulder.

_She doesn't need to see how thirsty I really am. I am surprised that I had to push myself to keep ahead of her. _He regarded her for a moment, admiring the way she looked, rather spent. _She is indeed a capable woman. More capable than the hunters, at least. Thankfully, she is at my side. _

Fenris turned his gaze to the stream. It was not too deep, though it burbled with the briskly flowing water that came down out of the mountains. The bed was a little rocky, but they were flat chips rather than jagged pieces. He began pulling off his gloves, tucking them into his belt for the moment. "Be careful when we cross, Hawke. I'd rather not have to fetch Anders here to heal a gash in your foot or to fix your broken leg."

"Oh, well, thank you for the vote of confidence!" she said, hands going to her hips. Still, as they traversed the water, she gladly clung to Fenris's hand to help steady herself. She stepped carefully as he led her across, mostly going on tiptoe so she could avoid coming down on anything particularly sharp.

"This cool water feels _sooo_ good on my feet," she sighed, pausing halfway across the stream on a particularly large, flat rock. Fenris waited with her, feeling slightly foolish holding her hand in the middle of the ankle-deep water.

"Yes, we have so much time to waste. Perhaps you would like to go for a swim?" he threatened after a minute, twisting his wrist so he could push against her hand. The corner of Fenris's mouth quirked up when her eyes widened and her other hand shot out, flailing for balance.

Hawke gripped his hand firmly, however, yanking instead of pushing back as he'd expected. "I'll take you with me," she warned, laughing when he staggered towards her a step.

He regained his footing quickly, though he eyed her through the hair that fell into his eyes. "Hmm," he observed dryly, "I forget how cunning you can be, sometimes."

They crossed the rest of the stream quickly and uneventfully, though Hawke did kick a few splashes of water towards him, 'accidentally' soaking Fenris's leggings nearly to his thighs.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she said innocently, still splashing a bit, "I'm just trying to keep up with you. I know I've been slowing you down."

He rolled his eyes without looking back at her. For a moment, he was even tempted to pull her off balance. But he didn't want to hurt her — or to wind up fully soaked. "Come, woman," he growled. "Not much further. Surely someone with your dexterity has more grace than this."

She made a scathing hiss of appreciation at his retort, miraculously taking more lithe steps. "Ooh ho, _very_ nice."

Fenris did not let her see the deep smirk on his face. _I even enjoy winning these verbal sparring matches. It is enjoyable against such a capable opponent. Less so against someone like… Anders. _

Once they reached the opposite bank and walked a few paces into the grass, they reluctantly released one another's hands. Fenris considered their surroundings while Hawke stamped her feet, looking back when she cursed. She bent over to pull a barbed nettle out of her heel.

"I can't believe you came all the way south, across Thedas, like this," she said when she straightened, flicking away the barb and turning to take in the large clearing they'd entered. It was dotted with a few solitary trees and partially ringed by a pronounced curve of low mountains. Carefully, she plucked out and unfolded Anders's Warden maps, taking a moment to orient herself.

Fenris glanced at her, wondering what she meant. "What, without… _boots_?" Again, his feet felt cramped just thinking about wearing them, and he made a face.

After giving him a considering glance over the top of the map fold, she chuckled softly. "I meant on foot and by yourself. Though I suppose that you did it mostly bare of said foot makes it further remarkable."

"Ah." He looked away, not wishing to discuss it. _No other journey has been this enjoyable. Usually I am completely alone, often chased. Even when I had others to travel with, they trusted me even less than I trusted them. _He scanned the surrounding mountainside, avoiding answering. He didn't see anything resembling dwarven architecture. "Is this door supposed to be near the ground, or up in the hills?"

"Hmm? Oh. Let me see." She had been staring at Fenris, admiring him in the golden light of the impending sunset. "Hard to say. Up a ways, likely. Somewhere along this north ridge."

"Then, we will need a vantage point," he replied matter of faculty, heading to one of the largest oak trees in the center of the field. She followed behind, gingerly stepping around a few more nettles. "It would take us an hour to search that mountainside, even if we split up, but you should not walk barefoot in there," he explained.

"Yes, I know, I'm _reckless_," she grumbled, catching up to him. "You needn't remind me. The stinging in my heel is reminder enough." Fenris glanced over to raise an eyebrow at her, so she shrugged, looking back to the map. "I was only trying to understand you better."

His eyes traced her profile as he considered what she said. "I see." His fingers flexed on their own, wanting to trace along her face, too. _To know that she cares that much about me… I have never known anyone like her. _

They moved beneath the boughs of the tall, sprawling oak, so Fenris busied his hands instead with setting his sword and waterskin aside. Hesitating, he carefully eyed the roots of the tree for signs of a badger den. Hawke looked up at the branches, expression skeptical. "How are we going to get up there?"

"Just wait here." He looked over his shoulder at her before leaping to hoist himself onto the lowest branch. Hawke watched appreciatively, for he leapt an impressive distance, then dangled, muscles rippling and flexing to pull himself up.

"You _are_ going to haul me up, aren't you?" she asked as he turned to sit on the thick tree limb. He peered down at her, and her hand went to her hip as she peered back up at him. "I do have the map, remember? And two pairs of eyes are better than one."

Fenris looked out across the clearing, expression hesitant. "Hmm. I do not know. You seemed rather unsteady on your feet in the stream…" He extended his legs as he settled more firmly on his perch, noting the cold, clammy sensation of his leggings and gaiters clinging to his skin. He shook one foot, sending a few droplets of stream water showering down as it trickled out of his gaiter.

"You'll dry off," she said flatly. Then her voice turned thoughtful and she tapped at her lip. "But perhaps I _should_ remain on the ground, since you're likely to drop me. Your balance _was_ a little off in the stream…"

"You _wound_ me." She smiled triumphantly up at him, and he stretched out along the length of the branch, outstretching his arm to her. He hooked one arm and leg firmly around the thick bough, shifting so his belt did not dig into his side. "You will have to jump. And try not to pull me out of the tree."

Hawke quickly tucked the map away, then brushed her hands against her armored skirt. She looked up at him as she positioned herself below his extended hand, taking a moment to entwine and stretch her fingers out. "I'm never going to live this down if I fall," she said warily.

Fenris made an impatient wave with his hand, his vambrace glinting in the sunlight. "Trust me, Hawke."

Hawke smiled up at him, coiling into a deft crouch. "I can do that." She sprang upwards, reaching for his hand. Their hands connected with a resounding clap, Fenris's strong grip catching her easily. Her agile fingers settled in his grasp as he began to pull.

"You're… heavier than you look," he groaned, trying to haul her up bodily so she could get her free hand onto the branch.

Her other arm waved, seeking purchase, and her legs kicked to keep herself from spinning. "I take back what I said about your flattery," she grumbled through clenched teeth. Her arm shook as she pulled with all her might too. After several tense seconds she finally got one elbow up over the thick limb.

Fenris began to right himself, helping her up until he had to release her hand. He was surprised at how quickly she pulled herself up, though her cheeks were once again flushed as she sat beside him.

She wobbled slightly, knuckles whitening as she tried to keep her balance. "Easy, Marian," Hawke mumbled to herself. Drawing the map out with one hand, she glanced around before bracing herself and pointing.

"Look there. See if you can see either a door set into the ridge, or perhaps some sign of a wide path. Varric said that the doorways are twice as tall as a man and wide enough for a cart. There should have been some kind of ancient road into the Deep Roads at some point, as well."

Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from her, Fenris turned his sharp gaze onto the slope in front of them. "Perhaps we should go higher. The underbrush is rather thick, and nothing stands out." He slowly moved to tuck his legs under himself, glancing at Hawke to make sure she was bracing herself before he caused the limb to shake.

"Well, if you see nothing, I'll certainly see nothing," she agreed, though she scanned the ridge one more time.

They carefully climbed their way from branch to branch, weaving their way further up the tall, old oak until they came to a good outlook. The foliage was thin enough that they could see the mountainside, and the height did make it easier to gauge the contours of the ridge.

Hawke scooted closer to Fenris as they seated themselves, since their perch was thinner and less sturdy than the one below. "Is it just my imagination, or is it a bit… bare over there?" she asked, indicating a slight bald area in the dense cover of trees on the mountain.

Fenris's eyes traced up her bare feet and legs, and her shapely body, to her face, then down her outstretched arm to reluctantly follow where she pointed. "No, it is definitely not imagining," he agreed, both ironically and truthfully.

His wide, green eyes studied the landscape, considering how it had looked from the ground, and further down in the tree. He pointed too, to the nearby stream they had just crossed. He traced it up with his finger, past where it disappeared under the dense, leafy canopy. "The stream runs down near there. With so much water flowing down out of the mountains, the entire area should be thick with vegetation."

Hawke nodded thoughtfully, holding onto the branch with both hands and letting her legs swing a little. "It would be a very convenient spot for a Deep Roads entrance, then. Merchants and travelers would be able to camp just outside with a source of fresh water."

As Fenris nodded in agreement, she turned to look at him, observing him with as much rapt attention as she was using on their mission.

_I would scarce have thought that I could find a man so beautiful. Perhaps it is his elven heritage, but he looks even more enticing here, out in the countryside. In the city, he looks no less handsome, but he is always a little hunched, like he is trying to hide, even when he walks. But out here, he stands taller, breathes easier, lengthens his stride a bit. Still alert but less… on edge. _

She thought of the reasons for his wariness and reticence, what his life had been until now, and it jabbed at her heart deeply. The knowledge that he had spent three years alone hurt enough, but the further knowledge that his life before, as a slave, had been infinitely worse set her on the verge of heartbreak. It took every ounce of her willpower to force tears down.

_He will hardly thank me for blubbering halfway up an oak tree on his behalf, not when I wind up causing us to plummet to our deaths. Besides, he doesn't have to be alone now. It has only been three weeks, but surely it they have been positive, overall. Danarius sent packing, steady work, a place to stay, albeit a rundown, stolen place, a new group of acquaintances — even if he doesn't get along so well with Merrill and Anders. _She paused. _And even if Isabela tries rather too hard to get along well with him. _

His large green eyes, which had been squinted as he tried pierce the dense thicket of the ridge, finally noticed her staring. Fenris turned to look at her, his smooth, angular face made even smoother by his usual neutral expression. The branch wobbled as he shifted, and Hawke nearly overbalanced as she felt the sudden weight of his gaze. He smiled slightly then, reaching out to take her wrist, steadying her.

"Do you think we have found what we are looking for?" she asked quietly, voice a little raspy from her suddenly dry throat. She wasn't really sure which thought she meant her question to address, the entrance or the two of them.

"I believe so."

His eyes had finally picked out a distinctively vertical patch of growth set into the ridge, nestled at the back of the somewhat bare area Hawke had pointed out. It was too large to be natural, and also appeared roughly square. Given the maps and the rest of their combined scouting instincts, Fenris was confident that they would find the Deep Road entrance just there, and an easily clearable path to it for the wagons, too.

But he was too distracted by the sight of Hawke to say any of those things. _She looks so beautiful out here, up in this tree. And not just because her legs and feet are bare, though I do appreciate the thought,_ he decided. _Hawke is a remarkable woman, and surprisingly capable. _He turned fully to her, moving to sit with his back to the tree trunk, one leg drawn up to prop up his arm.

"We found the entrance quicker than I thought," he said, deciding to settle back for a break before climbing down. "It seems you are indeed quite skilled at scouting. No wonder today was relatively uneventful for me, at the rear." She smiled confidently, though she gave a demure shrug.

"I do what I do best, same as anyone."

"Like climbing trees, footraces, and crossing streams barefoot, on a whim?" he teased. She laughed, holding her feet out for a moment before letting them swing away again. Fenris shook his head, both amused and curious. "Tell me, why do you do it?"

Hawke looked confused for a moment. "I… just do."

Fenris let the silence hang, knowing eventually the weight of it would pull more out of her. _Besides, it gives me a quiet moment to just remember this. _The sun was low in the sky, casting her in a wash of warm gold, and the clearing was very quiet, save for the soft rustling of the oak leaves and her breathing. The most pronounced movement in his field of view were a few lazily flowering vines dangling overhead, and Hawke herself fidgeting on the branch before him.

"I grew up in a place like this," she finally said with a wave of her hand. "In Ferelden, we usually lived out a-ways from the towns, so I spent a lot of time outside. I learned basic woodcraft from Father, then taught Bethany and Carver as we grew up, playing in the forest. Father loved the outdoors and the countryside — honestly, it's one of the main reasons he fled the Circle."

She gave Fenris a careful glance, unsure if or how he would respond to her father's apostasy. Fenris just watched her, listening attentively, without seeming to make a reaction either way. "He had been a bit of a scamp before his magic manifested," she continued, "so he also taught me the rudiments of using blades."

She pulled both daggers free, carefully crossing her ankles to keep her balance when her hands released their grip on the branch. "I decided right away that wielding two blades was twice as good as having only one, and I found every opportunity to practice. Mother would quietly panic every night when she came to snuff the candle in my room, trying to slide my small daggers out from my sleeping clutches."

Fenris laughed, imagining Hawke as a child abed with all manner of weaponry around her. "It is no wonder your mother worries about you. As _reckless_ as you are, and apparently always have been." He said it teasingly, not wanting to reignite the argument he'd tried to start with her over Bethany, now that he was of a different mind on the matter.

She stiffened, quickly putting away her daggers before gripping the limb tightly again. Fenris nearly sat up to steady her, concerned that she would fall. _I only meant to tease her,_ he thought. _I must not have said it right. I am not good at this._

Hawke slumped a little, then glanced at him timidly out of the corner of her eye. "I know you overheard… what my mother said," she said hesitantly.

It was Fenris's turn to go rigid, then shift uncomfortably. "… Yes," he finally admitted, slumping back against the tree trunk. He looked away, unable to meet her eye as the remembrance of Leandra's words echoed in his mind. _Grandchildren. She thinks Hawke and I have… will… could… _He rubbed at his forehead, still staring away, not that Hawke was looking at him either.

"Maker, I never wanted to hear that speech again," she groaned quietly. "It is always so unbearable." She sighed. "I'm sorry you had to hear it. I tried to avoid it, truly, but I suppose it was inevitable."

Fenris wanted to shrug it off, forget it, and move on, but he found himself incapable of moving. He was rooted to the spot from the combined distraction of considering both children, and the act of producing them with Hawke.

Giving him a reluctant glance, Hawke added, "She was right about one thing though. Take your time."

Fenris stared away in a daze, still overwhelmed at Hawke's mother's assumptions, fears, and hopes for her daughter. But after a moment, he gave a halting nod of assent. _Leandra's particular… concern would require… a lot of time_, he decided._ But should I let that deter me from what I feel is right? I have never felt something like this before. To lose it out of fear… that would be truly unbearable._

"Just… please, put what she said out of your mind. Andraste knows, I'm trying to." Hawke rubbed at her forearm. "It's not like there aren't… precautions. I hardly need… that sort of complication. Even if… well. But there is enough to worry about with the expedition."

Her head sagged back as she sighed again, and Fenris finally looked at her. He couldn't help but smile slightly, for she looked so uncharacteristically flustered that judging from the look on her face, she was even more uncomfortable with this than he was.

"Hmph, embrium? Way up here?" she said, reaching up to pull down a red flower from the crux of a small limb overhead.

Fenris glanced up, taking a closer glance at the vine that had caught his attention earlier. "They… look like orchids to me. In Seheron, they grow anchored to the trees. In the jungles."

He wanted to tell her that the Fog Warriors had taught him that and to relate the small part of his own past that was known to him, as repayment for her telling him a little of her history. But he found he could not. _I do not wish to ruin this moment with her realization of what I have done. What I was capable of. What I still could be capable of, for all I know…_

She leaned up to sniff the red flower. As her nose nudged the petals open, it released a fragrant burst of scent, and Fenris found his chest tingled when he inhaled. Hawke pulled back with a smile. "That's embrium all right. I think it _is_ a kind of orchid, actually. I know the fragrance is good for healing the lungs. Lady Elegant would pay a pretty penny to know this is here."

Fenris eyed the plant again, noting how it clung to the crevices of the tree branch, sending tendrils out along the length to secure itself. There were several heavy buds preparing to open, in addition to the pristine one Hawke had pulled down to her.

"It's so pretty," she said wistfully, "and it smells so clean and… happy."

"You should take this one with you, then," he suggested. "It does smell good, and it is your favorite color. There are other blooms left." He indicated up at the plant, then paused. "Besides, you won't have any other chance to ornament yourself, once we are in the Deep Roads… _girly_." Fenris gave her a crooked, encouraging smile.

Hawke laughed and smiled back, then looked up again at the embrium. "Maybe. I could dry it once it begins to wilt and take it to Elegant as proof, too. Not that your reasons aren't practical enough." It was Fenris's turn to chuckle.

Then she looked more closely at the orchid plant, frowning. "But I don't want to pull on it and rip the plant free. I could use my shears to snip this stem, but I'd need both hands, and it's a bit of a stretch…"

Fenris considered their options, then wiped his hands on his leggings. _It is a valuable find, and I would relish the sight of her with it tucked behind her ear for a time. She wants it, and she shall have it. Once we procure it, we'll climb down and lead the expedition to the entrance._ Resolved, he sat up and beckoned to her. "I will steady you. Come."

Startled, she let go of the flower, and it whipped back up above their heads. "That's… not necessary, Fenris. I know you don't like…"

He scooted towards her, placing his hand over hers. "You have found something rare and precious, Hawke. I will not let you abandon it out of fear." He picked her hand up, gently tugging to get her to move under the orchid stem.

Hawke could feel the blush rising to her cheeks already, just at the thought that he was likely going to put his hands somewhere on her body. She fumbled with a pouch on her belt to hide the flush, fishing out the small, sharp pair of shears she carried for dismantling traps. Clamping them in her teeth, she slowly slid sideways towards Fenris, who was still straddling the branch.

Once she was within half an arm's length of him, she halted. "'ust… 'on't let 'e fall," she mumbled through pressed lips, reaching up to grasp the embrium stem with one hand, the one between her and Fenris.

"Trust me, Hawke," he chided gently, leaning in once her arm was extended to press down on her skirted thigh. His other arm went around her, hand gripping her low about the waist. He was careful to keep his exposed forearm from touching her, but she could feel the secure pressure of his vambrace cradling the small of her back.

Fenris took a deep, quiet breath, drawing in the scent of her as he leaned in to steady her. Hawke was distracted, reaching to pull the shears from her lips she stretched up to snip the stem. He had not held her like this for some time, not since she nearly lost her footing on the cliffside along the Wounded Coast. _And that was an accident. This… this I chose to do._

Hawke stretched further, trying her best not to tug the entire orchid plant free as she came in with the shears. Fenris felt his heart begin to race as her slender thigh flexed under his hand, surprisingly strong for its shapeliness. The curve of her waist, too, writhed beneath his fingers, and he held her more tightly.

The leather of her armor felt cool to his touch, and the contrast of it made him think of the heat her bare flesh. _Her hands are so soft and warm, despite her long years of practice with her blades. Her bare skin must be smooth as silk, then, underneath all this thick, leather armor. _His hand slid down her skirt to her knee, grasping her firmly as she rocked slightly from the motion of cutting.

She jerked as she snipped, lowering her arms rather quickly when she felt his hand on her lower thigh. She made a small 'oh,' turning to look at him with the flower stem clutched securely in her hand. The other hand holding the scissors remained slightly aloft in her surprise.

Fenris did not release her, since she still had her hands full. Instead, he leaned in to smell the flower for himself, for she held it in front of his face. His eyes closed at its soothing, almost magical scent. The faintest tingling wash of its healing properties flooded through him, seeming amplified by the sensitivity of his nose.

The heat and hinted tingle of lyrium that emanated into her skin from Fenris's hand coursed through Hawke's very blood, making her feel fevered. As his eyes closed, she gently swept the soft flower petal across the pointed tip of his elven nose, then down to the bow of his broad mouth. With a motion similar to the one his thumb had traced on her own mouth, she brushed the flower petal across the sweep of his generous lips, eyes intent on his face for any sign of discomfort.

The tender, silky feel of the embrium petal on his lips made Fenris acutely aware of the memory of touching Hawke's lips earlier that afternoon. He nuzzled against the flower, letting the memory consume him as he held onto her. Though he was distantly aware that they both still perched halfway up a tall oak tree, he could not summon the will to pull away or end the soft moment. If anything, he strained not to pull her towards him and capture her lips fully with his own. _Yes. This feels right. Hawke. Marian._

Only the familiar, haunting apprehension of pain lingering in the back of his mind held him back.

"Marian…" he whispered against the embrium, almost able to taste the scent of it on his tongue.

"Fenris…" she said fondly, cautiously. Hawke began to trail the flower up across his smooth cheek, to his high, elven cheekbones. Though she relished the slight of his murmuring lips, she wanted to avoid brushing against the two tendrils of lyrium that caressed his sculpted chin. "Does it… hurt?" she asked softly.

He gave his head a slow shake, eyes still closed, feeling the silky flower brush against his cheek.

"Marian!" A distance voice echoed across the clearing, and Hawke jerked, sending the flower skittering across Fenris's cheek and up into his eyebrow. His face crinkled, and he squinted an eye open to look at her, both of them chuckling softly as the moment fled like a startled bird. She smiled and pulled the flower to the side, using it to brush his hair out of his eyes. It made Fenris shiver, and his smile deepened.

He gently squeezed her thigh, thumb rubbing absentmindedly along her smooth skin, while his other hand clutched at her waist possessively.

"Marian? Mariaaaaan!" the voice called again, more frantically. Recognizing it, now that he wasn't fully distracted by the scent of the embrium, Fenris's heated expression drew down into a different, darker one.

"Anders," he growled. "Of course." But he still didn't release Hawke, reasoning that her hands were as yet still full. _I do not want to let her go. Why must it be Anders? What an utter and complete ass._

"I didn't think we'd been gone quite that long," Hawke said, clearly worried. "Why has he run ahead of the others?" She hurriedly tucked away her shears, then clamped the flower between her teeth. "'erhaps 'omething 'append," she said thickly around the stem. "'ome on."

Hawke turned away before Fenris could think of anything to do to reclaim or salvage the moment. He sighed inwardly, thinking, _Well, I have been telling her to have more of a care. I can hardly complain if she heeds my advice._

"Be careful, Hawke," he called instead, taking a moment to adjust himself before he unstraddled the high branch. He looked down, watching with surprise and appreciation at how quickly Hawke was picking her way down out of the tree. He followed swiftly, finding it much easier to descend himself.

By the time they both reached the thick branch they'd initially climbed up onto, Anders was jogging up, one hand clutching at his ribs while the other held his staff out horizontally. He was sweeping it from side to side, as if trying to find something to point it towards. The mage was panting heavily, sweat plastering his half undone ponytail to his head, and his boots and the hem of his robe looked sodden.

"Anders! What's wrong?" Hawke called, crouching on the thick limb as she dropped neatly onto it from above. Anders was already turning towards her, his staff seeming to draw upwards of its own volition.

"Marian! Thank the Maker!" He scurried under the tree, unslinging something from his shoulder. "When I saw your boots on the road, I thought the worst, that you had been taken."

Anders peered up at her with relief, then looked away when he took in the full sight of her, bare legged, flower in her teeth, and wearing a leather skirt of armor some many feet above him. Despite the fact that her skirt did have suitable protection underneath, it was all still a far cry from her usual appearance, which often seemed to fluster him enough.

Anders's chagrin further deepened when Fenris lowered himself onto the branch beside Hawke then leapt deftly to the ground. Fenris landed lithely, dropping only to one knee, barely having to brace a hand against the soft, grassy earth that surrounded the oak.

"And I suppose you didn't stop to think that I was with her?" he asked darkly, drawing himself up to stand. "That no one could have taken the two of us? Certainly not without the whole expedition being aware, long before finding her _boots_ on the road?"

Anders lifted his staff from dowsing for Hawke and stamped the butt of it firmly against the ground. "You could have run off at the first sign of ambush. That is what you do, after all, isn't it?"

Fenris kept his hard gaze on Anders while he moved to retrieve his sword and waterskin from the base of the tree, growling, "I would not leave Hawke in danger, no matter the cost."

Still holding Hawke's boots by the red handkerchief she'd tied between the buckles, Anders thrust his arm into the air, pointing up at her. "Oh yes? Then why is she stuck up in that tree, when you're down here? Why did I have to bring her her boots? Why does she look fevered and exhausted?" He looked up at Hawke. "Marian, are you well? Do you need healing?"

Fenris stalked forward, pointing at Anders menacingly, Hayder's Razor held easily in his other hand. "Avert your eyes, mage."

Hawke watched the exchange with increasingly straining eyebrows. She pulled the embrium from her teeth. "Gentleman, please," she called with a chuckle, finally growing concerned enough to say something as Fenris and Anders squared off beneath her. "I am quite well… and honored, I guess?"

She carefully clamped the flower back in her teeth, then felt at her belt to ensure all her pouches were secure. As Fenris and Anders watched, she tilted backwards off the tree limb, somersaulting through the air to land easily on the soft ground below. Much to her delight, she even managed to stick the landing, crouching on the balls of her feet with her hands out to steady herself.

"Still got it. Good girl, Marian," she whispered to herself around the flower stem before standing and walking over to the quarreling pair of men. Hawke pulled the flower out of her teeth as she drew up to face them. Both of them regarded her mutely, raising opposite eyebrows as they looked her over. "What?" she asked with an incredulous shrug.

They both just blinked, Anders's mouth agape, Fenris giving her another one of his deep, appraising looks. She tried not to flush under the heat of his gaze, pushing back the memory of what they'd just been doing up in the tree. Hawke quickly tucked the flower's stem into the space between her cuirass and underpadding, near her shoulder.

"Hello. Rogue, scout, and adventurer extraordinaire, Marian Hawke, at your service," she said, sarcastically introducing herself with a flourish and a bow. "Originally from Ferelden, now of Kirkwall. My hobbies include reading, dancing, and killing people. Have we met before?"

Anders finally laughed, handing over her boots and running his hands sheepishly through his sweaty hair. "I'm sorry, Marian. I should not have doubted you. I just thought... it best to come and find you."

She gave him an arch look as she accepted her boots, then began untying the red kerchief to free them from one another. "If I had been kidnapped, you could have followed me right into an ambush. You should have at least brought Varric with you."

Fenris gave Anders a scathingly smug look, agreeing with her assessment. "Yes, why did you come alone?"

He tried to tamp down on the irrational notion that Anders had simply wanted to barge in. _This morning I did not want him assuming, but if he truly desires her, then I would rather he think twice. Hawke would likely not react well if I had to rip out his heart. She seems to pity him, rather than fear him as she should._

Anders turned away. "Varric assumed it was something… harmless." His voice broke a little, though his tone was guarded.

Hawke sighed heavily as she sank to the ground to put her boots back on. "Andraste's runny nose but I hate drama. Well, I hope at least you didn't alert everyone. I just wanted to go barefoot and let my sore feet breathe a little."

Anders shook his head, but she was glancing at Fenris as she did up the first set of buckles. _I hope this doesn't make him more standoffish, _she fretted._ Everyone seems to assume the worst… or the best?… of our time alone together. Varric practically cackled when I asked him to send Fenris ahead to help me scout, and well, even Fenris himself knows what Mother thinks has gone on._

Fenris frowned and rolled his eyes, finally putting his sword away. Still, he came to stand by her, extending a hand to help Hawke up once she had her other boot buckled. Anders tried to keep from cringing as he heard her murmuring her thanks to Fenris.

"Well, we may as well make the best of this," Hawke said, digging the toe of first one, then the other boot into the ground, reacquainting her feet with the feel of them. "You can help us locate the Deep Roads entrance. We saw it just up that ridge, and we'll need to clear the path before Bartrand gets here, or it'll be my hide." She began pulling on her gloves, hurrying to help hold Fenris's vambraces while he put on his own.

Anders did not glance back, not trusting himself to quietly endure the pain of seeing the two of them standing together. "All right. I can help with that, I guess." He stood stiffly, scanning the mountainside for the telltale signs of a Deep Roads entrance, using the lore gained from his brief time with the Wardens to make an educated guess at its location.

Locating a suspiciously vertical, rectangular patch of vines in the ridge, Anders pointedly did not think about how Hawke could have asked him to help her scout for the entrance, since they'd been his maps and he was a Warden, after all.

"By the time the others get here, we'll be ready to set camp for the night," Hawke said conversationally, stroking the feathers of Fenris's right vambrace absentmindedly across her lips. "Bartrand is going to open the doorway to the Deep Roads to let it air out overnight… assuming it isn't fully caved in or blocked up."

"That is a good plan," Anders said tiredly. "It stinks down there. I would advise standing back from the door if you are there when he opens it. It is rather like a… foul belch of wind, at first." He shuddered visibly.

Fenris plucked his vambrace out of Hawke's hands, intentionally tickling her nose with the feathers as he did so. Then, when turning to clasp it on, he let his other vambrace's feathers brush against her arm. Only careful control of the expression on his face kept him from chuckling at the way she tried to scratch simultaneously at her arm and nose, wrapping her arms around herself.

"If you are _quite_ finished, Fenris," Hawke said archly, "then let's get a move on. I want to hurry, so we can find an easy path for the carts to take once they leave the road. It might earn me some credit with Bartrand. Perhaps with three of us now, we can clear the entrance quickly. Especially with a few well-placed fireballs from Anders."

_I am not finished with you yet, Hawke, _Fenris thought, falling in to walk on her right.

"Balls, indeed," Anders muttered, following on her left.

* * *

"All right, girly, I'll give it to you this time. That entrance is as pristine as I'd hoped, and you did a sodding fine job of getting us to the campsite." Bartrand kept his arms crossed as he squinted up at Hawke, yielding little of his surliness to his praise.

"Just doing my part, Bartrand," she demurred, "but thank you. I am happy to be along. If there's anything I can…"

"Varric!" Bartrand bellowed, cutting off her carefully rehearsed speech. "Make sure the tents are unloaded and staked well away from the sodding oxen! I don't want to step in a pile of ox shit on my way to squeeze the nug in the middle of the night!" He stomped away towards the carts, muttering about the ox-drivers insistence on camping the night with them before returning to Kirkwall.

Hawke stared after Varric's abrasive elder brother, shaking her head for a few moments. "I see now why Varric finds The Hanged Man to be relatively quiet."

She took one final glance back at the dark, gaping hole in the mountainside, wrinkling her nose as a sour, stale smell came towards her on the breeze. "Maker, I don't know what's worse. Knowing we have to go in there, or knowing that I'll likely get used to that stench." Hawke turned her back to the entrance to the Deep Roads, making her way down the fresh, hacked and charred path that Fenris and Anders had forged to it.

Heading in the opposite direction from Bartrand's echoing curses, she made her way over to the area beside Bodahn's cart. The dwarven merchant had pulled up near the stream and tree line, and Hawke had left her belongings in the back of his wagon. _So did Fenris,_ she thought with a smile, eyes searching the small group for his familiar silhouette.

Her suspicions that he would be about were confirmed when she noticed him hunting for firewood just inside the nearby thicket. There were already a few fire pits dug around their sprawling campsite, and Varric was busy directing the other hirelings in unloading supplies.

"I think your brother was calling for you, Varric," she said as she approached. Varric turned around, cocking an ear upwards as a particularly vicious utterance of his name rang across the clearing.

"You must be imagining things, Hawke," he said with a chuckle. "The only sounds I hear are sweet birdsong and fish farting in the stream over there."

She laughed, giving his shoulder a nudge. "He wanted you to separate our tents from the oxen."

Varric turned around in a halting circle, shrugging. "Really? Here I thought we'd take turns cuddling with them all night. So much for that plan."

Hawke cast her eye around, noting that all the oxen had indeed long since been driven to graze underneath the lone trees further out in the clearing. "Seems pretty separate to me," she agreed. "Anything I can do to help, before he comes up with something else for you to have already seen to?"

Scratching behind his ear, Varric looked askance and cleared his throat. "Uh, sure. I guess you could go ahead and set up your tent. I didn't know where you'd want it, so…"

She gave him a confused smile, wondering at his embarrassment. "All… right, then. I guess I can do that." Varric continued making low grumblings, not quite meeting her eye as he moved back to organize the hirelings. Hawke stared after him in bewilderment for a moment before gathering up one of the bundles of canvas, poles and rope.

Sparing a glance for Fenris, who was still moving about the trees with an increasingly impressive bundle of dry sticks, twigs and branches, Hawke struck out for a clear spot — away from the carts, trees, and stream. Having camped with King Cailan's army for many long weeks, she knew full well that camps were busiest, and therefore noisiest, near both fresh water and the tree line. She had no intention of waking up to the sound of splashing water, no matter the source.

Hawke took care to securely erect her tent and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a little bigger than the small one she'd been issued in the army. "Maybe Bartrand isn't a complete bastard after all," she muttered as she stood up, brushing her hands off. By the time she'd finished and turned back towards the direction of Bodahn's cart to retrieve her travel bag, she noticed that a fire was finally going.

Anders and Varric were fighting to put up a tent near the fire pit, and Fenris was now relaxing across from them, watching. As she approached, Hawke could tell he was finding the sight amusing by the way he kept shifting, tilting his head to take in every angle of the awkward, uncooperative struggle between their companions.

"Blondie, stop crawling in before I have the support pole secured. You keep knocking it loose with your tall… tallness," Varric groused as the tent collapsed again, trapping a writhing Anders beneath the canvas.

The form of Anders stilled after a few moments, and Hawke could hear a heavy sigh emanate from within the pile of cloth. "I was trying to hold down the sides," Anders explained in a slow, suffering tone. "They were _flapping_, utterly loose. We're putting up a tent, not making a kite."

Varric lifted up a few sections of canvas until Anders's head finally popped out. The mage began to crawl away from the wreckage in an undignified manner, trailing a length of rope behind him that was looped around his boot.

"Need some help?" Hawke asked the squabbling pair, after sending a broad smile in Fenris's direction. He didn't really smile back, but he did hold her eye while raising an eyebrow at her.

_I have never felt so enchanted by something as simple as a lifted brow,_ she thought._ But, Maker, he uses those black, arching eyebrows rather diabolically, when he has a mind to. _Smiling privately to herself, she added yet another thing to her list of weaknesses for him.

"Maker, yes," Varric muttered at exactly the same time as Anders grumbled, "No."

Hawke laughed, going over to help anyway. "Who's cooking dinner?" she asked as she helped Varric untangle the canvas, laying it out flat again.

"Bodahn and his boy are taking care of that," Varric said. He pulled the support posts straight, then bustled inside the canvas as Hawke lifted it up. "Just don't expect anything much fancier than stew for lunch and dinner, and porridge for breakfast."

Hawke switched to the other side of the tent, lifting that side of the canvas up so Varric could secure that post, too. "Sounds fine enough. Especially if it means I won't have to cook. I don't mind, but I prefer to save it for special occasions." She glanced over her shoulder at Fenris and got a small smile from him that time.

Anders had spread his cloak on the ground and was sitting cross-legged on it, staring sullenly into the large campfire Fenris had built. "When I first joined the Wardens in Amaranthine, we had the most amazing food every night," he said grumpily. "I thought perhaps it was always like that, but I guess I should have known it was only…" He stiffened for a moment, then slumped to look away.

Hawke's gossip sense began to tingle, and she turned to regard him. "Known it was only what, Anders?" She held the tent flap open for Varric, and he crawled out of the tent to begin staking down the corners down.

"It was only because of the Warden Commander's… status," Anders explained in a clipped tone. "Us regular Wardens went back to basics once she left. And it only got worse in the Deep Roads."

He snorted, looking back to where the Deep Roads entrance yawned in the mountainside behind their campsite. He muttered, "The nightmares are bad enough. The least they could do is feed you something scrummy for forcing you to _live_ down there."

Hawke went to her travel sack and pulled her cloak out, laying it out on the ground before she sat. She chose to sit close to the fire and across from Fenris, thinking the view rather fine. "Sounds like you didn't like this Warden Commander," she prompted conversationally, hoping to get more information out of Anders. _Maybe he will mention who this friend of his was that I remind him of, too._

She caught Fenris looking at her and raised her own eyebrow at him. Her mouth pursed in satisfaction when his lips twitched and he looked away. _Yes, Fenris, try not to smile. I don't have to have your keen eyes to see you watching. I see you fighting not to smile at me. But two can play at this little game._

Anders rubbed at his nose for a moment before answering. "No, I… liked her well enough. She was the Hero of Ferelden, after all." Anders held up a hand and began folding down his fingers. "She killed the Archdemon, she saved the Circle of Ferelden from the Right of Annulment, she was Warden Commander of Amaranthine, she was queen, and she was… beautiful, on top of it all. There was nothing not to like. I…"

He paused, lowering his now fisted hand and clearing his throat. "Well, I might not be natively from Ferelden, but, well… Maker Save the Queen, and all that." He lifted his waterskin hastily in salute.

Hawke turned her arched eyebrow away from Fenris and towards Anders as he spoke, surprised to hear that he personally knew the new queen of her homeland. Anders looked pale, and he was taking a rather long drink from his waterskin. "You _know_ her? The Hero of Ferelden?" she asked in surprise. "Bodahn traveled with her, too! What a small world." Her eyes practically glimmered with hunger for gossip. "What's she like?"

Anders lowered his waterskin, wiping quickly at his mouth. "Married," he said curtly. Hawke's eyebrow went up further. "To King Alistair, of course," he added. "It sort of… defined her. They seem very much… in love. She wrote him often and was rather in a rush to get back to Denerim. So I didn't get to spend all that much time with her."

He looked away with a shrug. "I became a Warden because of her, because she sent the Templars packing for me. She is very noble, kind, and loyal. Funny, too, and mischievous. A lot like you, Marian. Remarkably so." He sniffed again, looking away to rub his proud nose.

Hawke shifted on her cloak, leaning back a little. "Ah… I see," she said knowingly, able to read between the lines. It was not difficult, from the bittersweet tone to Anders's voice. "It would be hard not to be in awe of someone so illustrious. And I can see how things would seem quite different once she returned to her royal duties."

_So, I remind him of the queen, the Hero, the Vanquisher of the Blight, do I? That's quite flattering… too bad I don't have my journal to write all this delicious gossip down in,_ Hawke thought._ But that's just like Anders, to become infatuated with the Queen of Ferelden. He is such an idealist… that is adorable. _

Then she thought of Bethany. _Oh dear, that must be who he's thrown Bethany over for. He thinks he cannot be with my sister because he's still in love with the queen…? Well, maybe when he gets over this silly infatuation, he'll realize what a gem Bethany is._

Anders nodded mutely. "I thought being a Warden would change things for the better, but it didn't, really. I assumed too much. It just… made things worse."

Varric finally plopped down near the fire, taking out a cloth to start polishing Bianca. "Blondie, things rarely get better when you make them more complicated." Everyone nodded sagely in agreement, even Fenris.

Still thinking of Bethany, Hawke cast her glance around to make sure their small band was alone. The rest of the expedition crew was busily setting up camp elsewhere, taking advantage of the space in the sprawling clearing before they were all jammed into the Deep Roads together.

"Speaking of complications, Anders," Hawke said, voice not carrying beyond the circle of their fire, "did you speak with your mage underground contacts about Bethany?"

Anders stared blankly at her. "What?"

"Bethany," she repeated gently. "You were going to have a word with the underground, in case Ser Varnell or any other templar started asking questions about her while I'm away."

Anders looked aside, then down, face creasing into a mask of concentration. "Oh… of course. Why wouldn't I?" he responded slowly. He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "I'm sorry, Marian, I've just been so busy the past few days with everything…. My memory is a jumble."

_He looks so upset. Bethany was right, he is as torn up about this as she is. _Hawke waved him off with a kind smile. "It's fine, Anders. I was just checking. I didn't want to ask earlier, with the hirelings around." She took a closer look at him, troubled that he looked so drawn and stricken. _I shouldn't have pried into his past, and bringing up Bethany did not help matters. He's obviously still a little mixed up about it all. _

"Relax, go have some ale before dinner," she encouraged. "You look exhausted." Anders nodded, getting to his feet and walking over to the mess tent that Bodahn and Sandal had erected in the middle of their sprawling campsite.

After Anders had wandered away, Varric discreetly cleared his throat. "So… you two need a fire pit near your tent?" he asked, tone light and conversational. "I left the shovel out when I saw you pitching it way out there, Hawke." He tilted his head towards where a small shovel lay in the grass, studiously continuing to polish Bianca without looking at either her or Fenris.

They both looked at him quietly for a few moments. "What… do you mean?" Hawke asked, fighting not to look at Fenris.

"Your… tent," Varric explained again, tone a little less comfortable. "I figure you… and the elf," he spoke of Fenris very quickly, "might want a small fire of your own." He shrugged. "None of my business either way, just thought I'd offer the shovel. Your choice."

Realizing Varric truly did assume they would be sharing a tent, Hawke glanced at Fenris. As she'd suspected, he was looking away into the line of trees, hands clenched and once-languid posture now rather rigid. _No, he doesn't look ready for something quite that close-quarters,_ she decided.

Clearing her throat, she turned back to Varric. "I, uh… I thought that we'd each get our own tents. They certainly don't seem big enough for two." Varric risked a glance, his sharp eyes flicking between them before focusing back on Bianca. He shrugged silently, keeping his lips uncharacteristically pressed closed.

She glanced again at the tent she'd helped him put up, thinking it would be a rather tight fit for two. Cozy, if the other occupant was willing — which Fenris seemed decidedly not. "You and Anders are _sharing_ that tent?" she asked with a cringe.

"Unfortunately." Varric sighed. "I thought mages were supposed to be small and reedy," he muttered. "Anders is built more like one of those oxen… must be something in the water in the Anderfels, I guess."

Hawke's eyebrow went up. "Surely, Bartrand wouldn't expect me…" She cut off as soon as she started to say it, realizing that Bartrand was decidedly making no allowances for her gender. _Quite the opposite, in fact._ She sighed, glancing again at Fenris, but his posture was still as stiff as before.

She waved her hands, as if to physically clear away all the confusion. "I'll sleep outside," she said, frowning in confusion when her voice had a deep undertone to it. She looked back and saw Fenris was getting to his feet, and she realized he had said the same thing when she had.

"I don't want special treatment," Hawke said firmly, shaking her head. "I should have looked into this yesterday and brought my own tent. Or I should have done that in the first place."

Fenris picked up his pack and one of the bedrolls from a stack, then began taking long strides out into the dark part of the field. "I prefer sleeping under the stars. It is fine."

He did not look at her when he spoke, and she fretted about his avoidance and the slight tightness to his jaw. _I wonder if he is angry with me again. Andraste's droopy drawers, why can I never keep things going smoothly for more than an hour?_

"I like sleeping under the stars, too," she called after him. "Honestly, Fenris, take the tent! You need to rest properly after last night." _He slept sitting on the floor, leaned over the bed! He needs an actual lie down, tonight. _Fenris kept walking, and she knew he must be ignoring her; she seriously doubted his excellent ears could not clearly hear her across such a modest distance.

Varric coughed, then started whistling rather loudly to himself at her last remark. Hawke rolled her eyes in frustration. "Oh for the love of all the Maker's children… Fine. Anders can have the tent. We'll figure something out about the sleeping arrangements some other night. I will go… over there somewhere."

She gestured an irritated, hasty motion in a random direction away from all of her irksome companions. _This is going to be a very long expedition, _she realized as she stood. She retrieved her travel sack from the back of Bodahn's cart, swept her cloak and a bedroll off the ground, then stomped away into the soft field to seek out a cozy place for one to bed down.

* * *

"That is one fine woman," one of the hirelings whispered, elbowing his companion in the ribs as they walked up to the mess tent. "What's Bartrand thinking, sending her half a mile down the road to scout? She should be riding in the back of the front wagon as motivation!"

The other hireling made a raunchy noise, then slapped the back of his hand into his friend's stomach. "Oy, but what about that big elf that she arrived with. I got the notion that they're… you know." The first hireling, a short fellow, stared blankly waiting for the second to continue. "You know…" he said again. "_Together._"

Fenris's wooden spoon did not hesitate in its journey up to his lips as he listened in on the conversation. His practiced control and eavesdropping were both second nature to him, especially in a setting like this one. He almost felt more at home eating his food alone, among strangers. But hearing the hirelings talk about Hawke was quickly souring even his healthy evening appetite.

He kept his eyes firmly on his second bowl of stew, though he could feel the pair of hirelings looking at him from across the way. He took a savage bite out of his bread to vent some of the urge to go over to the men and snarl.

_I knew they had their eyes on her. They are fools. What do they have to offer a woman like Hawke? They are little better than Anders, and only because they do not harbor Fade spirits within. _He looked at his bare hands, wishing he could leave his gloves on to eat. He wanted dearly to flex them at someone. _No matter. Gloves or no gloves, I could best any one of them with my arms tied behind my back. Not that my lyrium talent doesn't render such bonds rather useless in the first place._

"No, no, I'm telling' ya, she's all by herself," the first hireling whispered as they sat down, well away from Fenris. "Think I'll take her a mugga' ale once everyone settles down, and, ya know, _introduce_ myself." The man made a soft bray of laughter before slurping up his stew, and his companion snorted while smacking a mouthful of bread around.

The many undignified sounds made Fenris's ears ache. _Ugh._ He quickly finished off his stew, wiping the bowl clean with what remained of his bread. Before he could stand to return the bowl and spoon to Bodahn, however, Sandal appeared at his side, as if out of thin air.

"Done, please," Sandal said happily, holding out cupped hands. Fenris gave the dwarf a glance, then turned to regard him fully, trying yet again to gauge Sandal's real age and intelligence. He noticed Sandal was once again regarding him with wide-eyed awe.

"Why do you keep staring at me?"

Sandal blinked patiently back, utterly unaware. Fenris leaned in, glaring harder, scowling.

"Don't you know I'm dangerous?"

If anything, Sandal's lopsided smile went wider at that. Fenris's curiosity became tinged with discomfort, then annoyance, so he bent the full power of his hard, angry gaze on the dwarf.

Sandal stared back, utterly unphased. Then, for just a moment, Fenris could swear it was as if a sharp, searching gaze as piercing as his own looked back at him. Sandal leaned in, his light blue eyes growing suddenly large in Fenris's field of vision to swallow up everything else. Fenris felt a visceral pang of alarm, and he recoiled, breaking eye contact with the lad.

"The shiny _hurts_," Sandal said sadly, small eyes once again dull and unassuming. His normal, slight smile was turned down at the corners, as if on the verge of realizing a distant, disturbing noise bothered him. But instead of fully frowning, he remained caught just on the cusp of distraction. Seeing the simple dwarf that way rattled Fenris more than if he'd been staring into the face of Danarius himself.

Fenris gave a quick, halting nod of assent to Sandal's observation as he handed the bowl and spoon over to him. His surprise at the lad's gaze, observation and mood all rendered him incapable of both of speech, and of ignoring Sandal. To his further amazement, after he hesitantly handed over his dishes, the dwarf reached out and patted him on the head, like it was Fenris who was the simple child. Sandal's touch did not even hurt; it felt completely normal, is if Fenris had patted his own head.

Sandal turned and left without another word, once again smiling slightly, eyes focused resolutely on the dirty dishes as he walked with care back to the mess tent. It looked like he was carrying the most delicate Orlesian bone china, rather than rough hewn, wooden traveling dishes. Fenris stared after him for a few moments before swiftly fleeing the mess area, leaving Sandal and the still snickering hirelings behind.

_This is why I prefer avoiding the company of strangers. This is going to be a very, very long expedition. _Fenris found himself seeking out the fire by Varric's tent, not wanting to go back to his dark, lonely bedroll just yet._ Maybe Hawke will be there,_ he thought, with a mix of trepidation and hope._ I do not know what to say to her if she asks about sharing a tent. I am… torn._

Fenris found he was almost disappointed that Hawke had not first asked his opinion. She'd waffled so long that he finally made the decision to yield it to her, only to have her decide she would give him the tent and sleep on her own. _It would have been nice to have had the option,_ he thought sullenly.

He knew that in all likelihood he would have made the same decision, but his pride was wounded that she feared his discomfort so much. _No doubt she could have found a way to make it work, had she been forced to share with Varric. Or… Anders. But I am another matter._ His expression screwed up into a complicated unhappy, disgusted scowl of disappointment.

"If you insist on making such hideous faces, kindly sit with your back to the fire," Anders griped. "You're ruining my dessert."

He was sitting near the firepit, eating a pear. Judging from the litter in front of him, it looked like he'd also eaten a few other fruits as well. The sack of fruit from Jonas's stall still leaned against Anders's leg. Varric and Hawke were nowhere to be seen, and lost as he had been in his thoughts, Fenris had not noticed their absence and diverted from his path to the fire.

Fenris felt his rage burn hot, and he just narrowly avoided igniting his lyrium markings; his emotions were so wound up and intense that it would require little in the way of effort. "Where did you get those?" he snarled, pointing at the fruit. "Who told you you could go through my pack?" He stalked over to loom above the seated apostate.

Undeterred, Anders took another sucking bite of pear and snorted around a mouthful of its juicy flesh. The noises set Fenris's teeth further on edge. "Marian got them for me." Fenris stiffened at that, and Anders noticed, pouncing. "What, don't tell me she's not allowed to go through your things? You still don't trust her, do you." It was more a statement than a question.

Anders turned away with a rueful shake of his head. "You really are a piece of work. Poor Marian has no idea what she's gotten into." He didn't even look at Fenris while he spoke.

Whatever irritation bled away at the knowledge that it had been Hawke who'd retrieved the bag of fruits from the top of his pack was quickly replaced by Anders's grating assessment of their relationship.

"I don't see you making any bold moves, _mage_," Fenris replied grimly. "Wasn't it you who thought she'd fallen to an ambush on the road, not four hours ago? You who thought she needed healing after… climbing a _tree_?" Fenris crossed his arms with a smug swagger of satisfaction when Anders's jaw tightened.

"At least I care about her well-being," Anders shot back momentarily. "She knows I am always there for her." He glanced at Fenris, then turned back to the fire. "You wouldn't even eat dinner with her. For whatever obscure reason. I assume you had some heavy brooding to do, or needed some 'alone time.'" He crooked his fingers in the air before tossing the core of his pear over his shoulder.

Fenris gritted his teeth, for Anders had hit rather close to the mark with his reasons for choosing a late dinner hour. _I wanted to avoid having a public conversation with Hawke about this. I did not know what I would say, and I did not want to argue with her, for once. _He curled his hands into fists. _I still do not know what I would say, but I am sorely tempted to meditate on the subject while wringing this abomination's neck._

"If I was fortunate enough to have someone like that, I'd never leave their side. _I_ would be constant and unwavering. Seeing to their every whim would be a privilege." Anders wiped his hands on his robes, then began to stand. "And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wash my hands in the stream, then check to make sure no one is skulking about trying to spy on Marian. Someone needs to see to her safety while she's washing."

Fenris bent low over Anders, halting his attempt to stand by physically blocking his way upwards. "You overstep yourself, mage," he growled. "And what would you know of serving anyone but yourself? You have spent your whole life worrying about your own precious hide. You are as selfish, arrogant and deluded as the magisters. You think you do Hawke some great honor with your favors, but in reality you seek to bind her to you, to own her, to keep her as a slave for your own enjoyment."

Anders glared up at him, opening his mouth as if to speak, but Fenris did not relent. "_I_ have been a slave. _I_ have heard the excuses of your kind, seen first-hand how mages 'serve' man with their wisdom and magic. Even if I truly believed you capable of feeling anything for her, consumed as you are with that foul Fade spirit infesting your very being, I have no doubt that it would not be long before you twisted her to your own designs."

Fenris finally allowed the lyrium in his skin to light; he had actually been holding it back for some time now, so tightly packed were his emotions that he'd had to restrain himself rather than focus. Anders's eyes were not wide or startled by it, however — they were tight, flashing with a blue light. Fenris was uncertain if it was a reflection of the light of his lyrium, but he did not care, regardless.

"My master told me many times how he would never let me leave his side. He told me repeatedly that I should be _honored_ to serve him. Even the other slaves thought me _privileged_ to be constantly with Danarius, trailing him like some _pet_."

With his lyrium talent, Fenris reached _through_ the bag of fruit that was leaned up against Anders's leg, and he withdrew an apple, all without opening the sack. "Nothing good ever came of it. Not for me." He held the apple up in front of Anders's face, then squeezed. The apple did nothing, as his fingers melted right through the flesh of it.

Only once his fingers were firmly encased within the flesh did Fenris let his hand unphase. A spray of apple juice, pips, and bits of skin and flesh exploded outwards with an audible sick, wet noise as he destroyed the fruit by simply opening his strong hand.

"Neither would anything good come of it for Hawke. Or _you_, either." He said it with menacing calmness, regarding Anders's splattered face with a perfectly hard look of warning. "She belongs to no one. No one should ever belong to anyone." Fenris extinguished his lyrium.

Anders's hand came up to wipe bits of apple from his stubbly chin. "You obviously know nothing of love," he said, tone still defiant. "To love another _is_ to belong to someone else. To give yourself wholly into the hands of another person. Something, it seems, you are incapable of."

Fenris pulled away, turning as he straightened to fling the rest of the ruined apple aside and shake the sticky remnants of it from his hand. "Whatever. I hardly need life lessons from the likes of _you_. You should have stayed in the Circle. You are not fit company for anyone else, _mage_." He tried to keep his voice angry, so as not to betray the sting of Anders's words.

Again, Anders had hit a little too close to the mark of Fenris's own doubts and reservations. _I am too broken for her._ The words echoed in Fenris's mind from the many times he had thought them. He had scarce even let himself think the word 'love.' He found it very difficult to do so even now, as if the word was locked away behind a thick door in his mind, shouting and banging on it to be released, but he did not have the key. _Venhedis,_ he cursed inwardly. _Fasta vass!_

Anders stood quickly, brushing himself off and drawing himself up fully. "I think I pity you," he said simply. "If I had any tears left to shed after years of being systematically oppressed _myself_, I would weep for you. And for Marian."

Too rattled and confused with his own thoughts, Fenris did not even turn to regard Anders as the mage began to leave. "I neither need nor want your pity. Save it for yourself, it's what you're best at," he retorted. Anders made a wordless, rude gesture over his shoulder as he walked to wash off in the stream, but Fenris's back was still turned.

_Everyone assumes there is much more to Hawke and me than there is, _Fenris thought, rubbing at his forehead. He pulled his hand away quickly, realizing it was sticky, then winced as some of his hair stuck to his palm. He swore colorfully in Tevinter, gingerly peeling strands of his unkempt, white hair from his hand. The pain almost comforted him with its familiar feeling, which only depressed him further.

_I cannot let her sleep alone, _he decided,_ but neither can we share a tent. I could not bear that much contact all at once, I think._ The idea of holding her in his arms throughout the night set his blood racing through his veins, even as it made his lyrium markings tingle with the faint echo of agony.

The frustrating combination of sensations made him grimace, and he scrubbed the fingers of his other, non-sticky hand in his hair. _Venhedis_, he cursed again. Lowering his hands, he looked at them, feeling a faint flicker of hope. _Well, at least I can see if having her near will keep the nightmares away again. And if nothing else, I can hold her hand. _

He felt a faint flush creep up his cheeks, and he scratched sheepishly behind one pointy, elven ear, even though no one was around to see his discomfort. _No doubt Leandra would be gratified that I am careful not to take liberties with her eldest daughter. _His mouth went suddenly dry._ Though she did seem rather eager when she mentioned the prospect of… grand-children._

Pushing the discomfiting thoughts from his mind, lest they deter him from his plan, Fenris walked off into the dark field to make his preparations. _After I wash my hands,_ he decided, angling towards the stream._ No doubt, Hawke would be very proud…_

* * *

"Hawke."

Hawke nearly leapt out of her freshly washed skin as she walked past the final few sentinels of the tree line. Her gloves and one leather vambrace fell to the ground as she whirled to find Fenris leaning up against one of the trees at the edge of the clearing.

"Andraste's snaggled tooth, Fenris, you scared me," she said breathlessly, moving to press a hand to her chest, then hastily clutching at the now haphazard pile of armor she was carrying. He chuckled slightly as he straightened the leg he'd had drawn up, then came over to help her.

"Forgive me," he apologized as bent to retrieve her fallen armor pieces, though he carried them, rather than return them to her crooked pile. He took a deep breath as he stood, inhaling the fresh scent of her Orlesian soap. "I did not mean to startle you. You… actually startled me. I did not hear you coming."

Fenris reached over with his free hand to tuck the embrium she'd placed behind her ear back into place, for it had dislodged itself when she whirled. "You move very quietly through the woods. Though I suppose I should not be surprised." He could feel the damp strands of her hair brush against the back of his hand, and he let himself gently caress the shell of her ear, too. She shivered in a most gratifying manner.

"Um… yes," she chuckled breathlessly. "As I introduced myself earlier…" She shrugged, trying to play off her smile as part of referencing her earlier joke when Anders and Fenris had stared at her acrobatics.

Fenris released her and leaned in, giving her a crooked smile. "Marian Hawke, yes. I remember," he said in a mock serious voice. His smile deepened when she blushed and started chewing on her lower lip as he said her name.

She blinked a few times, releasing her lip after only a brief tease at it. "Why, Fenris," she joked breathlessly, "is this a special occasion? You said my first name. I thought you only did that…" Her words cut off as he took her cuirass from her and tucked it under his arm, then took her by the hand. "… On special occasions?"

Fenris quietly led her over to where he'd laid out her bedroll next to his, in a broad patch of clover on a slightly mounded part of the clearing. It was far enough from the campfires that the darkness was profound. It was also far enough from Anders, the other hirelings and the stream that no one would disturb them without a very good reason.

Hawke reluctantly stopped at the bottom of the small hillock. "I… don't understand, Fenris," she said cautiously. "I thought…"

He released her hand, walking halfway up the small hill before he turned to face her. "I came across your bedroll on my way across the field," he explained. It was the near truth, for he'd actually gone to seek it out in order to move it. "You said you liked sleeping under the stars. Trust me, there is no finer vantage point than this one." He indicated their bedrolls with a gesture of his hand, then pointed up.

"Oh," she said quietly. "I see." Hawke looked around, then looked up at the sky. "I can hardly disagree with the view," she marveled with a small gasp.

"Neither can I," he agreed lightly, keeping his eyes on her. She still stared in mute awe at the brilliant summer night sky, and he smiled sadly to himself, knowing this would be the last night for weeks where the view overhead wouldn't be cold stone. _I cannot give her much in the way of a night to remember, but I still can give her this._

"Come, put down your things," he said, going to sit on his own bedroll. He pulled over his pack and began pulling out items for his own wash.

His bedroll was separated from hers by about as much space as had been between the bed and his pallet last night. Her pack was on her bedroll, and he'd also seen to refilling both their waterskins. He felt rather proud of himself for taking such care, when his normal habit was to leave things haphazard and half-done in rebellion of his former slavery.

_Anders knows nothing, _he thought with a defiant frown, digging through the travel sack Hawke had given him. _He knows how to take care of no one but himself. If anyone knows how to truly serve another, it is I._

Hawke moved to stand beside her bedroll, considering it for a moment. "You didn't have to do this, Fenris," she said slowly. "We… talked about this earlier. In the tree? Taking… time?"

Fenris avoided looking at her by busying himself with undoing his vambraces and the leather straps buckled on his arms. "We are out in the open, enjoying the stars, Hawke," he explained. "You spent too much time talking with Isabela the other night. This is hardly any different than when we camped along the Wounded Coast."

She looked away at that, rubbing at the back of her neck. "Yes, of course." Her voice sounded a little croaky, so she cleared her throat, then bent to pack away her armor. The motion reminded her of something.

"I hope you don't mind, but I opened your pack earlier to get the bag of fruits out. I tried not to disturb anything. I just popped it open, pulled out the fruit, then popped it closed again. I hope that wasn't too forward of me."

Fenris did not look at her as he pulled his pauldrons over his head and set them aside. "Yes, I noticed," he said dryly. "I'm afraid Anders went through quite a few of them. I took an apple, myself." He tried not to chuckle at the memory of seeing Anders utterly splattered with it.

"Oh, good. I hope they are juicy."

"Very."

She smiled at the satisfied tone in his voice. "Jonas always sells marvelously fresh fruits, though it is a little pricey, buying in Hightown. Still, sometimes you just have to let yourself go a little crazy." She chuckled along when Fenris laughed.

Hawke's hands brushed against the package of herbs in her sack, and she quietly withdrew it from her bag. "Are you, um, getting ready to go wash, then?" she asked, watching him with apprehension. It quickly turned to appreciation as he pulled off his chestplate and set it aside. She firmly resolved not to reach out and touch his shoulders and back, now that all he was wearing was his tunic, belt and leggings. She satisfied her desires as best she could by tracing and admiring the lyrium markings down his arms.

"Yes. I was waiting for you to finish," he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. He gave her a sly smile when he saw her looking. "And I was keeping an eye out for… onlookers."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Please. Anders was worried about the same thing. I spent most of my time just soaking my feet in the cool water, since _somebody_ was in a terrible rush earlier today." Fenris just lifted an eyebrow at her, thinking how his leggings were still somewhat damp beneath his gaiters.

"Besides, I _was_ in the army, you know," she continued. She tutted and stuffed the rest of her armor into her sack, then pulled over her daggers. "I've become quite adept at the quick, cold scrub while avoiding prying eyes. Why do you think I brought my weapons with me?"

She snorted as memories of the frequent occasions she'd had to hurl daggers into the trees in warning popped into her head. "Here is a free lesson for you. If you're going to spy on a woman bathing, pick someone who uses a heavy weapon. Shields, daggers, bows and magic all make for disappointing quarry."

As he chuckled, her eyes flitted to where Fenris's own greatsword lay in the clover above their bedrolls. She let her voice drop to a seductive purr. "Perhaps you should take other heed of my warning, Fenris. The only protection your sword could afford you when bathing is if you hid behind it."

He removed his belt before slowly twisting to face her. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, trying not to grin. "What are you suggesting, Hawke?"

Her eyes flicked upwards as she pouted, looking the picture of innocence. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Just another free lesson."

"Hmm. Perhaps I should set a guard on you," he teased. "Make you sit and listen to Varric's stories while I am gone."

She pretended to consider it seriously, though in fact she _was_ considering it seriously; she still needed to go brew her moon tea and had expected to spend the night alone, unscrutinized. "Hmm, well I suppose I do need something to occupy me while you're away. And I could go for some fruit."

Hawke patted her stomach, drawing Fenris's attention to the shapely curve of her waist in her soft gray outfit, and setting him in mind of holding her steady up in the tree earlier. _It is a shame she wears pants,_ he thought, also remembering the feel of her knee and thigh under his hand._ I much prefer her in something… shorter._

He forced himself to stand before he became quite unable to do so in front of her. Still, he held his towel and clothes draped strategically in front of himself, just on the off chance. He gripped his bundle of toiletries in the other, pointing towards the tree line. "Well then, it is settled. I will see you shortly." He paused, fixing her with an upraised brow. "But not _too_ shortly, I trust?"

She pressed a hand to her chest, which only made Fenris's brow creep up more as he considered her, and she protested, "Just what kind of person do you take me for, Fenris?"

He gave her a wry smile. "A rogue, scout, and adventurer, I believe you said? Given the first two, just see that you do not become too adventurous… _woman_."

Fenris left Hawke laughing heartily on her bedroll, infinitely pleased with himself for rolling so many of their inside jokes into one. _Practice makes perfect, indeed._ With his keen ears, he could hear her faint laughter all the way to the tree line, and he decided that his first day's payment for working on the expedition was quite satisfactory.

Hawke discreetly pulled out the wooden tumbler she'd snatched from Bodahn's mess tent while he'd turned his back to ladle up her a bowl of stew. She carefully measured out the appropriate number of pinches of moon herbs into it, then packed the herbs away, burying them deep into her pack. Seeing Fenris disappear up into the mountainside where the stream emerged, she quickly threw her cloak about herself, secreting the cup into her hand. After she pulled the cloak to shield that side of her body, she set out across the field towards Varric's fire.

To her dismay, both Anders and Varric were sitting around it, talking. She was, however, grateful to see that a kettle seemed to be going. _No doubt Anders is brewing that elfroot tea for himself like I urged him at dinner. He seemed very out of sorts and utterly exhausted. I hope he will be all right. We aren't even in the Deep Roads yet, and he seems certain that his sleep will only get worse._

"Good evening, my fine fellows," she greeted as she entered the ring of firelight, still strategically hiding her cup.

"Hawke, there you are," Varric chuckled. "I was about to start slogging down the stream bed, seeing if you'd washed completely away." Hawke laughed, but trailed off in concern when she saw Anders hunch further over his steaming cup of tea.

"Almost ready for bed, I trust?" Varric continued. "I know you're not a morning person either, but be sure to get up early. In these parts, there's this incredible beast that starts serenading just before dawn. You won't want to miss it."

Hawke gave him a heavy sigh and a flat glance. "All right, I'll bite. What manner of beast is it." She said the question tiredly, goading the dwarf on, knowing he loved it when people suffered through his puns.

Varric started to wheeze with laughter before he even delivered the punchline. "It's a giant ass… named Bartrand." He began to guffaw uncontrollably, slapping at the ground with the flat of his hand as he howled. As he rocked, Hawke noticed then that there were more than a few overturned wooden ale mugs scattered around where he was seated on his cloak.

"I'll _bray_ to Andraste to grant me _ass _swift rest, then," she responded drolly. Varric clutched at his stomach and rolled to his side, beating at the ground with a fist. His eyes were screwed tight with his laughter, tears starting to stream. Hawke took the opportunity to swiftly go to the kettle and pour herself some hot water.

Anders looked up questioningly, but said nothing about her actions. "He's been dying to tell you that joke for the past hour," he said instead. "I've heard it thrice, now."

Hawke glanced at Varric, who was struggling to right himself, then back at Anders. "At least he's having a good time," she said with a smile. "But how are you feeling? Better after eating some fruit, getting a little sugar into your system?"

She moved over to sit by Anders, folding her cloak under herself as she sat, careful not to spill her tea. _Don't need to go messing up the dose and winding up needing Anders's assistance anyway,_ she thought. Anders said nothing in response to her question, so she prompted, "Father and Bethany both ate a lot of fruit, to help deal with the subtle weariness of controlling their magic."

"I have got to draw this," Varric said, wiping at his eyes before pulling out the small booklet he carried with him for writing and sketching on the go. "The mighty Hawke, sipping tea, like some kind of lady's maid!" Hawke shot Varric another suffering look, then turned back to Anders.

Anders gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, it was good of you to think to bring some. Not many people know how draining magic can be. I don't usually try fruit myself, but it did help… a little." He eyed the nearby fruit bag with some tightness in his jaw and eyes. "I will be fine."

She would have squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, but she was gripping her warm mug of tea in both hands, trying not to spill. Likely, Varric would have objected to her moving anyway, so instead, she nodded at Anders's own cup. "Having some elfroot tea, too, like I recommended?"

Anders looked down at it with slight laugh. "Yes. I often recommend it to my patients, but always forget to try it myself. Healer, heal thyself," he toasted, raising his cup slightly to her before taking a sip. He sniffed a little when he lowered it, then sniffed again, more pointedly, glancing over at her steaming cup.

Hawke felt her face go a little hot, so she looked away. "Just… having a little tea myself, before bed."

"This is coming out all wrong," Varric groused, still scribbling in his book. "Screw it, I'm drawing you holding a huge tankard of dwarven ale. I'll tell everyone you drank a gallon the foulest, blackest, most fungus'y stuff we could find, then asked for more. In fact, laugh, like you're enjoying yourself!"

"Very well. And I won't deny the rumors when asked." Hawke laughed nervously and held her smile, trying to cover up her embarrassment in front of Anders. Varric began humming to himself happily, now that he'd come up with a better subject for his sketch.

"You needn't look like that, Marian," Anders said quietly, voice not carrying. "I _am_ a healer, you know." Hawke did not move, not wanting to nod lest Varric notice and nosily ask to be let in on the conversation. "Besides, who knows how… _he… _ would react, if…" Anders cleared his throat, looking away flatly. "Well, it would be best for you not to have to find out the hard way. I have seen it happen before." Anders looked down again, sipping quietly at his tea.

Hawke sat stiffly, still pretending to hold her pose for Varric, but truly finding it difficult to think, let alone think of a response. _They all really assume… but how __**would**__ Fenris react? I can't imagine he would just disappear, but it would not be easy. He might even welcome a reason to put down roots. _She paused, blinking a bit that she was even considering it, and that it didn't sound wholly unappealing to herself, either. _Not that there's any chance of it, not anytime soon, anyway. For several reasons. Too much else going on. _

_Perhaps I should clear this up? No, that would only make things even more strange. Maker, what a day it has been for these awkward conversations… I just want the day to end...  
_

"Can I go yet?" she pleaded, eyes shifting to Varric. He nodded, still humming, face now a mask of concentration. She glanced back to Anders. "Don't worry about me, Anders, you just take care of yourself," she said brightly, though she sounded a little flustered even to herself.

"Goodnight, sleep well," she called as she fled, quickly draining her hot tea once she was back out in the dark. She didn't want to think about the reason for the cleared throats and murmured responses she got from the two of them in lieu of a proper good night.

_They all assume I'm about to go out here and… take Fenris to my 'Deep Roads'_ she thought with a confusing mixture of wryness, chagrin, laughter, and arousal. _Maker… when I hoped to be more like Isabela, I didn't really think it through._

Reaching their bedrolls and seeing that Fenris had yet to return, Hawke drained the last few droplets from her stolen tumbler, then tucked it away in her pack. She slipped off the soft shoes that she'd worn instead of her heavy boots, then tucked herself under her cloak on her bedroll. Though she wasn't really cold, since this final night of Bloomingtide was seasonably warm, she felt a little exposed waiting up on the small hillock for Fenris. _Like waiting for a secret rendezvous with a lover,_ she thought, fidgeting.

_I suppose there are worse things than having it widely assumed that he is my… lover,_ she decided as she stared up at the stars. _He is who I would choose, after all. And it will go a ways towards keeping some of the riffraff at bay. No one is likely to challenge Fenris, of all people. Saves me from having to kick a few crotches and bend a few arms back._

By the time he returned from his wash in the stream, she'd vacillated from being pleased, to anxious, to amorous, to chaste, back to amorous again, then settling into a nervous sort of ambivalence. _Just let him come to you. He set all this up, after all, which was terribly sweet. I just need to let him figure this out for himself,_ she decided as he came into view.

"You were making noise for my benefit, weren't you," she asked, propping herself up on one elbow as she regarded him.

"I didn't want to startle you again," he explained. He lay out his wet tunic and leggings to dry in the grass, holding them down with the wine bottles from his pack so they would not blow away, should the night turn breezy. "You might have thrown one of your daggers at me, and ruined my shirt."

He turned and ran a hand over his chest, which pulled his shirt open slightly more. Hawke felt her mouth go dry, and she searched absentmindedly for her waterskin. "I see."

Fenris gave a great stretch before laying down on his bedroll, pausing to take a drink from his own waterskin before fully reclining. "I am tired," he stated, looking upwards as he yawned. "It has been… a long day."

Hawke tried not to choke as she laughed at his understatement around her mouthful of water. "Yes, indeed."

She reclined, tucking her cloak around herself. Fenris remained quiet, and once the rustling of her own motions ceased, she realized the silence in between their words seemed to be growing rather profound. Despite the odd air of expectation hovering around them, she nestled back against the small bolster pillow, then reached up to pull the flower in her hair free.

"I don't know if I can sleep," she said finally, sniffing at the embrium while she looked up at the night sky. "I'm so used to emptying my thoughts into my journal, and now I do not have the luxury." She turned her head to glance over at Fenris, smiling when she saw him staring rapt at the stars, like he had when they'd camped out on the Wounded Coast.

"You may speak of anything you wish, Hawke," he replied, without taking his gaze off the sky. "I will undoubtedly have little to say back, as I am out of practice with talking. I am more of a… listener." He turned to give her a small smile before settling back to resume his stargazing. "Much like your journal, in fact."

She chuckled, setting the flower between their bedrolls so its fragrance would waft over both of them in the night breezes. Hawke settled more fully into her bedroll, stretching out and enjoying the feel of soft earth and cool heather beneath the thick cloth. "Now there's a thought. No doubt it will bore you right to sleep, too." She laughed again. "I talk, you listen. Yet another way we complement one another."

_I would not have it any other way,_ Fenris thought. _Yes. This is right._

Her laugh faded to a comfortable hum as Fenris's hand slipped over to entwine with hers between their bedrolls. Their joined hands lay together in the cool swath of clover that separated their beds, soft plant leaves brushing against their warm skin.

Hawke felt herself taking deep, calm breaths as the barest, soothing tingle of his touch flooded her. She did not care if it was her imagination or if it really was his lyrium; all she knew was that it felt wonderful. Fenris, too, began taking slow, measured breaths, reminding himself that they were out in the open, that he was tired, and that it would be best to enjoy the stars, rather than risk ruining the night by going faster than he could handle.

"Thirtieth of Bloomingtide," he prompted gently, keeping his eyes heavenward and his body controlled.

Fenris knew that was how she started each entry, because he'd often been sitting with her when she started to write by always speaking the day aloud. Last night at his mansion had been no different, and when she'd announced the date with a flourish of her quill, it had signaled his mad dash to draw her bath. He'd been distracted enough then that even he, with his good memory, had not made note of the specific day. _Three weeks… _He blinked his bewilderment away, focusing on the present.

_Tonight, I do not have to go anywhere. There are no words here to chase me from her side._ He squeezed her hand, then began to run his thumb along her fingers. _No hunters. No Danarius. No Anders. No nightmares. _He drew in another relaxing breath, taking in the scent of her, the embrium, and the clean field around them.

"Thirtieth of Bloomingtide, nine thirty-one Dragon," she repeated quietly, running her own thumb across Fenris's hand for a few moments before finding her voice. She spoke slowly, carefully considering her words as if the air was was indelible ink. "The expedition is underway, and we are camped outside the Deep Roads entrance. Now I understand why poor Varric stays well away from the Dwarven Merchants Guild and finds the company of the Hanged Man regulars rather tolerable. Bartrand is considerably more of an ass than I expected, but he seemed reasonably pleased with the job we've done so far." She glanced at Fenris as he chuckled, but he was still looking upwards.

"Mother managed to cause a scene before we left, as I had feared," she continued, turning back to look up at the thick blanket of stars herself. "Fenris kept us up so late playing cards that he let me sleep in well past dawn, despite swearing he was an early... Hey!"

She cut off speaking as his middle finger folded down in between their joined hands, tickling her palm. "My journal doesn't do that," she complained, twisting her wrist to scratch her itching palm against him without having to let go of his hand. Her hand was pulled over as he silently shrugged, and she tugged back to resume letting their hands lay in the grass.

"As I was saying… Since _our_ arrival was rather late," she paused, seeing if that would satisfy him, then continued when he gave a tiny, mute nod, "Bethany was already there, too, and I had to tell her in person that she could not come." She sighed. "She was already upset because her night with Anders ended early and poorly, though she would not go into details. I did my best to cheer her up, but I can only hope that Isabela, Merrill and Aveline can keep her happily occupied while I'm away. And that Anders's precautions will help keep her safe from the Templars, even though they parted poorly."

Fenris's hand jerked slightly when she mentioned Anders, and Hawke assumed that he was worried for Bethany on her behalf. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"It was a fairly uneventful day of walking and scouting, otherwise. I did have to chase Fenris halfway across the Free Marches barefoot at one point, then teach him a lesson in the stream about rushing me…"

"I knew you did that on purpose," he grumbled.

She hushed him. "But we got a nice tree climb out of it, and I even found an embrium plant up there. Lady Elegant will likely pay a decent bit to hear of it, and I just might use the coin to buy Fenris some new rings. Perhaps ones that fit properly?" She wriggled the tip of her finger against his loose ring, and he shrugged again, though it was slight and did not drag her hand away this time.

Hawke searched her thoughts for anything else of note, skipping over things she'd likely write about in her journal but not mention to Fenris. _Like Mother's delivery of "the speech," Anders talking about my moon tea, or Fenris himself touching my leg. I wouldn't want to embarrass him or make him think that I'm pressuring him to continue… Not that I would mind, but we are out in the open and I did say I wouldn't rush him. This is too lovely to ruin with my blathering.  
_

"Hmm… what else. Varric is drawing a portrait of me drinking dwarven ale, and I assume that by breakfast tomorrow, everyone in the expedition will assume it is true, and look at me like I'm crazy. Also… I will probably try to go buy two tents off of the ox-drivers tomorrow, before they head back to Kirkwall. Bartrand only provided two rather pathetic ones for all four of us."

Fenris's rhythmic stroking had stilled, so she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his reaction. She cleared her throat. "Does that sound like a good plan?"

"Do as you see fit," he said tiredly. "A tent will matter little, underground. Beyond being a place to dress…" He trailed off with another shrug. "I have no strong opinion on the matter." He punctuated it unintentionally with a yawn, but he figured his statement was not a lie, since his strong feelings both for and against sharing a tent with her cancelled one another out.

"Better too many tents than not enough," she said slowly, deciding that it had been the correct response when his thumb began moving again.

"I bought pies and fruit this morning, which worked out very well. Especially since I wound up needing the pies to smooth things over with the crew, after arriving late _and_ Mother's scene. And the fruit will be a refreshing treat in the Deep Roads, while it lasts. Also, it came with the rather interesting information that Fenris has performed a good deed for Vashyn and his little brother Sym. Jonas, the fruit merchant, is now tutoring them in their letters, thanks to Fenris's generous tip when I sent him his new sword."

Fenris's caress slowed as she talked, so she changed topics. "We spent a very pleasant evening together last night. Not only was dinner enjoyable, but the bath was very relaxing. Fenris was terribly kind to draw it for me, and it was wonderful to luxuriate in it. It also sounds like Danarius might be gone for some time..."

He stopped rubbing her hand altogether, hand going slack, and Hawke began to grow panicked as she changed the topic again. "Afterwards, I taught him how to play Wicked Grace, and he's extremely good at it. He is very clever, and he's grasped all aspects of the game much faster than anyone I have ever met. His hands are very quick, and I find myself struggling to keep up with him sometimes. I look forward to seeing his first match against Varric, and definitely look forward to playing against him again."

Her anxiety won out when he didn't respond even to playing cards, and she timidly turned to peek at him, expecting to find him brooding, or even angry over something she'd mentioned.

"Oh," she quietly gasped, smiling a tiny, fond smile when she saw that he had fallen asleep.

Hawke took in Fenris's peaceful, sleeping face in profile. "You are so handsome, and you don't even realize it," she whispered. She went rigid and a thrill of fear shot through her when he wrinkled his nose and tightly squeezed her hand.

Her heart rate calmed again when she realized he was just shifting in his sleep. She chuckled softly to herself at her own cowardice, shifting on her bedroll without disturbing his hand so she would not wake him. She lay slightly on her side so she could easily keep an eye on the stars while still looking at him.

Hawke quieted and tried matching her breathing to the rhythm of his own, using an old wives' trick to try to get herself to fall asleep. But her heart kept stirring deeply as she watched him, rendering her unable to relax. Finally, she realized it was because her day was ending in the same way it had begun — with her gazing at his face. Her mind cleared with the realization, thoughts becoming so right and poetic to her, that she found herself phrasing them and writing them out in her head, over and over, rather than falling asleep.

"Damn," she whispered to herself. "I really cannot sleep without my journal." Fenris made a soft snort and muttered something short, possibly in Arcanum. "Very well," she replied softly and carefully, as if he'd chastised her again to use him as a substitute for her journal. In her mind, it seemed like exactly the sort of thing he'd have said to her if he'd still been awake.

Nevertheless, she stared at him for a few long minutes, heart pounding as she tried to work up the nerve to speak and waited to ensure that he truly was asleep.

"Thirtieth of Bloomingtide, nine thirty-one Dragon, continued," she said in the barest of whispers, knowing full well that with his lovely, pointed, elven ears, that he still could hear if he woke.

"My day has both begun and ended with me looking at Fenris's beautiful face. It has been wonderful. Despite all the awkwardness, I find that I would not change anything about yesterday or today, not for anything or anyone in all of Thedas."

Hawke paused, watching him closely, silently counting the time between the rising and falling of his chest, ensuring that he had not stirred. Finally satisfied that she had not disturbed him, she continued, verbally penning the thoughts that were pounding in her heart, in her mind, and keeping her awake.

"I am in love with him. With Fenris. I thought I was just fond of him, but tonight I realize that I love him, with all my heart. I do not pretend to know what that means right now, with everything… with the expedition, with my family, with his own past, and mine. But I love him regardless. I suppose that's the way love is meant to be. And so I must… I must love him."

She took a deep breath. "I love Fenris."

Feeling spent, relaxed, and sated after saying it aloud, Hawke carefully reached over and brushed a few errant locks of hair away from Fenris's closed eyes. She took great pains not to accidentally touch his skin, but they were free, fond, and gentle pains, and she knew she could never regret making any effort on his behalf.

When she nestled back down into her bedroll, folding his hand between hers, Marian drifted off to sleep within minutes, to dream of finding her way through the Deep Roads and back out again with Fenris by her side. The last thing she saw when her eyes fluttered closed was Fenris's face.


	32. Interlude: Deep Feelings, Part 1

**A/N: **I'm just going to stop apologizing for the ever-increasing length of the chapters from now on, but I will continue to split them into 2 parts when they get this long, for easier reading. :) We've hit the 250k word count milestone (yay, I am literally celebrating with champagne tonight,) and I know I easily have another quarter-million words in me for this! Thank you all for continuing to reading this novel-length fic!

And of course thank you again so much for all the reviews, as always! I really love the feedback and seeing what scenes everyone mentions; it helps me hone in on what vignettes you enjoy, and I want to be sure to liberally pepper in stuff you like.

Also, don't forget you can always hit up my twitter page if you want some reassurance that I'm still plugging away at the next chapter. As the chapters get longer, it's just taking me longer to write and proofread them. If I could type 24/7, I would — the mind is willing but the body is weak. :(

**Hint: **Before you read this chapter, you may want to read the latest of my 'Unread Letters' side-fic. It is a letter titled "Bait" that I posted last week, and it ties into today's first part of the story. Just check my profile for the link, since ff will not let me paste it here, boo.

As always, BioWare owns all, even though I know David Gaider has said he can't stand the idea of anyone else's hands on his baby. (Sorry, DG, but it's too late for me to stop now!)

* * *

_1 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon_

Fenris, still in his silk shirt and leggings, leaned up against a cool marble wall in the steamy bathhouse. He watched rather passively through the steam while he himself, dressed in an embarrassingly short tunic and a gold collar, massaged a flabby, old Danarius.

_I had hoped Hawke would keep such dreams away. Perhaps this is because of something I ate,_ he thought as he watched his former, wretched self work on the aged, face-down magister who was naked except for a drape of white cloth across his backside. _Perhaps I will never eat again, after having to relive this._

"Ahhh, my little Fenris. What lovely hands you have," Danarius sighed. He spoke loudly, hoping his voice would carry to the other magisters nearby who were taking their own relaxation in the lavish public bath. "I took such care to keep those hands from being ruined. It was a near thing, with having to mark both the fronts and backs of such a complex part of the body. So much lyrium and ink, too, and such delicate work — but worth it. You are my most exquisite…"

The magister went rigid, cutting off with a pained groan when Fenris worked his elbow into a tight knot on the powerful old mage's shoulder. "… Creation." Pain having morphed into languid pleasure, Danarius sagged back onto the plushly appointed plinth.

Fenris made a disgusted face from where he observed the scene against the wall, watching several other magisters turn to gawk and lift impressed eyebrows in envy. Mostly, however, it was because his slave self gave the magister's back a pathetically eager smile. Neither Fenris spoke, but the slave Fenris quickly moved to hold the crisp white linen that draped Danarius's hips while the magister turned to face upwards.

"I will never let you leave my side," Danarius continued conversationally, speaking a little more softly now. "You should be honored to be of such service to a magister of my standing, that I molded you from a lowly slave into something far more… useful." The slave nodded with a quick duck of the head, eyes lowered as he massaged Danarius's bad shoulder from the front.

Fenris felt a snarl rise in his throat, listening to Danarius whinge on as the old magister had so often liked to do when relaxing after his bath. _Disgusting old fool. He regrets my 'skills' now, no doubt. Well, he will come to regret them even more, eventually. _His hands curled into fists. _And then he will never be able to regret anything ever again._

Danarius caught his pet's chin in one surprisingly strong, gnarled hand, gripping the slave Fenris's face savagely. He seemed to take offense at Fenris's lackluster reaction — in the dream world, it truly could have been either or both of the Fenrises' reactions.

"You are rather skilled, but you would be… _nothing_ without me," Danarius said with dangerous softness, severe eyes boring into his slave's own. "Remember it. See that you don't… _forget_."

Fenris felt his fists become even tighter, hearing the magister taunt his lost memories.

But the slave Fenris merely nodded his head emphatically. When Danarius released him, he set back to his massage with renewed vigor, trying to make up for displeasing his master.

_I could never go back to this now, not after what I have experienced of freedom_, Fenris thought with seething anger. _If I'd had my memories then, would I ever have been this cowed?_

As slave Fenris's hands began to move down the magister's soft torso, Danarius writhed with a small chuckle. "Speaking of forgetting, I had almost forgotten to write the Library of Vyrantium to see if there were any scrolls on lyrium and memory loss." The magister paused, waiting to see if there was any reaction or faltering on his pet's part.

The slave diligently worked on, though his eyes flicked towards Danarius's face. "You know how I forget to look into these things when I am _displeased_ in some way," the magister continued. "Creating a key will require such vast amounts of concentration on its own… and so much _standing up_." The old man sighed emphatically, and his pet scurried to his legs and feet, strong, nimble, lyrium-lined hands moving to ease away the swelling in Danarius's spidery lower limbs.

_It is no wonder the old goat required a bodyguard. A lifetime of indulgences and dealing with demons has left him a twisted mockery of a man. How many times would he have died without my protection, if I'd just stilled my hand for even one moment? _Fenris looked away with narrowed eyes as his slave self ran his hands further up the magister's thighs.

"Yes, my pet," the old magister whispered with a slight quaver in his voice. "That's it." The slave's hands began to tremble, darting away, back down Danarius's legs again. Danarius held very still, eyes closed. His voice was now a low whisper. "Perhaps you have been thinking about the key? Have you thought of something to… offer me, as proof of your love and loyalty for your master?"

Fenris felt his jaw clench savagely. _It is all lies. There is no key. There never was, and there never will be! He dangled it before me always, hoping to lure me into doing his bidding, since it was unseemly of him to command it of an elf slave._ He snorted. _At least Danarius's boundless pride kept me from that one indignity, if barely any others._

The slave's hands shook as they approached Danarius's hips haltingly. The tremulous look on his own, former self's face made Fenris's blood boil.

"_Yes_…" Danarius hissed in near silence, propping himself up on his elbows to watch with anticipation. When his slave faltered, he added in a murmur, trying not to look around at his audience of other magisters, "I would hardly be motivated to delve deeper when it might serve to distract my favorite pet. Why would I need a key when you clearly still need to be _caged_?" Still Fenris hesitated. Danarius's voice dropped to the barest of hard whispers, tone angry and quavering. "How dare you shame me! Show us all that I own you fully. Show _me_."

Fenris crossed his arms in grim triumph when the magister's pointed words had the unintended effect of rattling the slave Fenris further, breaking his meager resolve. Danarius's lyrium-marked bodyguard collapsed to the ground in a quivering heap. "I can't," Fenris heard his former self whispering weakly. "I'm so sorry, master. Forgive me, master. I do not mean to shame you. I shame myself, master. I'm sorry." The slave Fenris crawled backwards in supplication across the marble floor, into a near corner, before rising to stand guard, though his shoulders hunched and his eyes stayed on the floor.

Danarius gnashed his teeth, overwhelming pride and one of the only deeply-rooted Imperial social norms rendering him incapable of asking, demanding, or begging release from a lowly slave, especially in the presence of the other magisters in the bathhouse, some of whom were receiving 'massages' on their own plinths nearby. For one of the most powerful men in the Imperial Senate to be seen as desiring an elf slave badly enough to command his compliance would have set off a firestorm of gossip and schemes — especially ones involving stealing Fenris, or turning him against his master.

_No, far easier for him to goad me into being a willing, pliant pet in every way, _Fenris thought darkly, stomach churning with bile.

"It is of no consequence to me whether I find that key or not, _lad_," the magister sneered quietly, knowing full well his elven bodyguard could easily hear across the modest distance. "Saves me a great deal of time and effort. It would obviously be a waste on the worthless likes of you."

Fenris shook his head, remembering when he'd believed Danarius's words, how he'd struggled repeatedly to please his master in every way, only to stop short of the one thing Danarius seemed to desire most. _I'd like to think I held back on purpose, that there was some flicker of defiance in me, even then. _

He closed his eyes tiredly. _My heart is full of doubt, however, and I find that I do not wish to think what lengths I would have gone to, eventually, to please Danarius, key or not. He wanted me to yield everything of myself willingly to him… and I very nearly did, simply because his will was my only thought and concern. He owned me... almost fully. This was the one thing that remained, and he ached for me to yield it, whatever his sick and twisted reason. Who can know the designs of a bloodmage and a magister...  
_

He turned away as several of the bathing attendants scurried over to eagerly do what the magister's bodyguard had been unable, and unfathomably unwilling, to do. Instead, Fenris walked over to regard his hunched and ashamed former self with a deep sense of regret, hatred, anger, and fear.

_Will I ever remember? _he thought, stooping to look up into his own blank, dull, unseeing eyes. _I had hoped to find this key in Kirkwall; I had been sure that Danarius had truly spent the past three years creating it to use as a tool in my recapture. That the smugglers were lying about it being stolen was obvious. Still, I had hoped to seize it and use it to finally set myself free. _He straightened, drawing himself up to his full height, standing much taller than the hunched shell of an elf that slumped before him. Then he sagged back down a little to his normal posture. _But there was nothing in the chest, nothing in the mansion, nothing at all to indicate such a thing ever existed…_

"What are you doing _here_, Fenris?" Hawke asked with a laugh. Fenris whirled away from staring at his slave self to find her standing behind him, fully armored. She smiled and leaned into him, gloved hands slipping up his silk shirt as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'd have thought you'd dream of _me_ in the bath," she murmured coyly before pulling him down for a languid kiss.

When her lips finally released him, he huskily agreed, "That would be… far more enjoyable." Brushing his thumb against the apple of her cheek as she smiled up at him, his other hand clutched at her waist possessively.

"Shall I steal you away from here, then?" she asked teasingly, wiggling against him. "Find somewhere… more pleasant?"

Fenris nodded seriously, eyes rapt on her face. The hand he had on her waist pulled her a little tighter against himself, using her presence to drive away the pain of these memories, as well as those seemingly lost forever to him. "I would like that."

Hawke's lips pursed into a pout, and her eyes flicked upwards as if in thought. Fenris felt himself smile at her calculating yet adorable expression.

"Hmmm…" she huffed in mock thoughtfulness. "All right, but after that chase you led me on yesterday, I think it only fair that _you_ should have to chase _me_."

He chuckled down at her. "I would catch you easily. Don't you remember how hard you had to run, just to keep up with me?" He felt her hands working behind his neck as she started pulling her gloves off. The fingers of one of her now bare hands snaked up through his hair, and he groaned softly.

"Then to make it fair, I'll just have to get a head start," she replied, tossing one glove over her shoulder. It tumbled to the marble floor with a leathery plop.

Fenris grinned deviously, immediately picking up on the game. "You wish me to follow your trail?" She nodded, fingers gently pulling free from his hair to trace along the edge of his pointy ear. His eyes slipped closed of their own volition, and he felt another soft groan torn from his throat.

"No peeking," Hawke whispered against his lips before giving him a soft peck. "At my signal, you must give me at least twenty-five heartbeats head start. Agreed?"

Fenris smiled wryly at her, eyes still closed. "You've set my pulse racing, Marian. You will be disappointed if you assume that will buy you much time."

She pulled away from him, bare hands gliding easily over the smooth, black silk. Her fingers trailed down his chest as she backed away, lingering just over his heart. "Perhaps I want you following closely. You know how I cherish having you… at my rear."

Fenris reluctantly let her go, smiling and chuckling deeply to himself. "You will be the death of me, woman."

"But what a way to go…" she called back. He could hear her laugh echo through the now empty public bath; the only other sound was that of her footsteps receding. Then, predictably, he heard buckles.

"You may start counting now," Hawke announced in the distance just as a heavy thud resounded through the bath hall. Fenris started counting backwards in Arcanum, fighting his desire to open his eyes. The sound of Hawke's footsteps were mismatched now, and by the time he reached fifteen, there was another thud, and her footsteps went silent.

The rest of the numbers moved swiftly by, partly from Fenris's own excitement, and partly because his heart rate truly increased at the thought of the trail she was leaving him. "Trius, deo, unum…" he growled, opening his eyes the slightest bit early. They snapped immediately to the glove she'd tossed over her shoulder and onto the floor.

Already moving, his keen gaze searched out and found one of her boots lying many steps away. Fenris began to run lazily, scanning the marble floor for her second boot as pillars, plinths, bathing pools, and statues began to whip by. He spotted it not far off, just in front of a door so brightly lit from without that he could not see through it.

Heedless and too enticed to care at the odd transition, Fenris dashed through the dazzling doorway and into the night, finding himself in the clearing where the expedition was camped. The moon was high and full overhead, illuminating the open space with more than enough light to see by. Hawke was some distance further on, the other of her gloves laying just in front of him, along the path to her.

Fenris sped up as he saw she was barefoot, barelegged, bare armed, and working to pull down her armored leather skirt as she ran on ahead. He felt one of his eyebrows creep up as he swiftly stalked after her, eyes barely registering the trail of vambraces, daggers, and her belt as he tore past each item.

He nearly faltered as Hawke's skirt fell to the ground with a now-audible jangle, so fast was he closing in on her. Fenris drew in a deep breath that seemed to almost come in a pant at the sight of her running half-naked towards the small hillock where their bedrolls awaited.

Torn between catching her or enjoying the chase, he found himself slowing as Hawke turned to run backwards. Her completely bare legs skipped dexterously up the small hill as she faced him, working her closely-fitted cuirass over her head, padding and all. Fenris stopped dead in his tracks at the foot of the slight incline, looking up at her as he drank in the sight of her wearing only her smallclothes.

"I am afraid this is a private hill, and you are over-dressed, serah," she announced, holding out one hand to forestall him when he finally made to charge up to her. Fenris eagerly tugged his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it in his haste. Hawke disappeared from view for a moment as the silk whipped over his face, and her hand was on her bare hip when he next saw her.

"Ah ah ah," she chided with a sly smile, flicking a finger to indicate his lower half. "My hill, my rules. Smallclothes _only_."

Fenris stalked up the hill anyway, encircling her bare torso with his bare arms, pressing his naked chest against her bound breasts. "I wear none such under my leggings. They are... too tight for that." Slipping his hands all the way down to her thinly-clad backside, he pulled her hips against his own to subtly prove it.

Her eyebrow crept up, scandalized. "Well, that is good to know. I'll be able to make so much coin off Isabela's incessant wagering about the color of your underthings, now."

"I will give you a better reward to keep you silent." Fenris pushed Hawke over to the bedrolls, walking her backwards without releasing his close grip on her near-naked body. He tilted her back slightly, and at his gentle urging she lay down on her bedroll, pulling him down with her.

"Hmm, but when you first rewarded me, it's was after a rather intense, long night of battle," she purred. "Will this be as arduous?"

He felt himself chuckle at her clever weaving of truth and innuendo even as he stiffened. "Afraid of sparring with me? I thought you wanted the practice."

As he knelt between her legs, Hawke dug herself in and tensed, as though readying for combat. "Oh, I am more than up to the challenge, Fenris. Just try to take your secret from me, you'll see." She gave him a knowing, defiant smirk.

Fenris slid easily into a ready stance above her, lowering his lips to hers with a quick charge. She met him head on, mouth set with determination, so he teased a glancing blow at her lower lip with his teeth. When she opened her mouth to retaliate, he slipped past her guard, kissing her deeply and thoroughly, his broad, languid tongue sweeping against her own sharp, quick one as if to wrest his secret away from her. Hawke groaned happily, though she continued to force him to fight a pitched battle to reclaim the knowledge from her lips.

Her legs drew up along his bare sides, knees holding him in place to prevent a retreat. His hands slid up her arms, fingers entwining with hers before he pulled her hands up and over her head, effectively pinning her. Her hips lifted off the ground, slamming against him, but he simply thrust back, parrying her with delicious effects.

Her feet hooked around his backside, toes seeking purchase on his leggings to strip away his last bit of shielding. He drove her thighs wider with his own, disrupting her assault and harrying her smallclothes with his hips, first from one side and then the other, as if to flush her out of her scant cover.

As their struggle grew more heated, the air became redolent with the smell of her soap and Hawke's own distinctive scent of just _her_, and Fenris found himself taking deep breaths through his nose, to both continue their kiss unbroken and to simply take her in, in every possible way.

Her mouth tasted like sweet, heady wine, and her skin felt warm and vibrant, like a shaft of sunlight that he could hold in his hands. The sounds of her pleasure were alternately low, then high, causing his ears to strain, holding on to every breathy sound as she moaned and mewled just for him. He kept his eyes closed, focusing intently on his other senses, letting them paint the picture of her boundless glory in his mind.

After a long and pleasurable stalemate, Fenris decided to break off his head-on attack and attempt to outflank her meager defenses. He began to edge his way down from her mouth, using every weapon and technique he could think of to rattle her resolve. Teeth nibbling at her chin, lips sweeping across her jaw, tongue lapping at the hollow of her throat. And still he drove at her from below, relentless in his slow, grinding assault of the juncture between her thighs.

"Fenris…" she panted, murmuring against his ear as he began to besiege her neck. Her faltering cry urged him on and he moved down to invade between her still-bound breasts. He was hungry for a victory, for the scent of her, and his nose detected a particularly rich cache of her aroma there, at her chest, where her heart fluttered excitedly for him.

"The chest," she groaned as he nuzzled between her breasts. She was still thoroughly pinned beneath him, though she continued to writhe against his hips. "The chest, Fenris… the smuggler's chest. That night, three weeks ago… What were you expecting was inside? It was empty, but you said you had hoped…" Her tone was desperate, but whether it was for release or knowledge, he could not tell.

Fenris paused and looked up at her face, suddenly drawn back to remembering the beginning of this dream. "The one they kept in the house?" he asked, voice still thick with arousal. Her head bobbed, eyes glinting brightly in moonlight as she nodded. He could see by her expression that she was concerned.

"A… a key," he admitted, a little confused as the dream shifted subtly. "Danarius… he spoke of some key he could fashion to undo the memory loss of the lyrium." Hawke gasped sadly and tried to sit up. Feeling the passionate moment fading with the mere mention of his former master, even in the Fade, Fenris let her go, rolling onto his side on his own bedroll, facing her.

Hawke rolled onto her side too, facing him. "And you thought you'd find it there, that night we met, in the house in the Alienage?" she asked. Fenris nodded, and she gave him a concerned frown as her hand reached out to brush the hair out of his eyes. She was once more very careful not to touch him.

"It was bait. Nothing more." He'd repeated the exact words he'd said to her at the time. "Sometimes Danarius talked like he had already fashioned this… _key_, and I could… earn it. Other times he tried to pretend that it would require effort and sacrifice on his part, and therefore required me… to prove myself to him." He inclined his head disgustedly back the way the two of them had come, in the direction of the strange door from the public magister's bath in Minrathous. "What you saw in there was one such occasion."

Hawke's frown deepened. "You think he is lying? About the whole thing?"

Fenris sighed heavily, laying fully down with his arms outstretched towards where she lay. He placed one hand on her hip, both claiming her and clinging to her, while his other hand entwined in her hair. "Certainly. He is a magister, after all. Besides, even if such a thing existed, I have no idea what it would look like. With the sort of dark magics Danarius undoubtedly used in… _forging_ me, it could be… anything."

He paused, daring to voice aloud a suspicion he had put out of his mind weeks ago. "I would not put it past Danarius to have made such a thing in the first place, purposefully locking my memories away. He was fond of… leashes." He'd discarded the idea, though, along with his all expectations for ever finding the key at all, after a thorough search of the mansion had yielded nothing. Confirmation that the rumor of the key had been Danarius's idea of bait had been all Fenris needed to decide that the magister had been lying about the entire matter all along.

Hawke lay quietly listening, chewing on her bottom lip, deep in thought. "Perhaps… it is not a physical thing at all. Perhaps it is a spell, or an incantation? Words have power, as it says in the Chant."

Fenris nodded tiredly, letting his eyes close. "I have heard it said often enough, surrounded by power-hungry magisters as I was, in the Imperium. But it is not worth talking about. Thinking about. Dreaming about."

Letting the matter slip from his mind again was easily done, and choosing to think of Danarius as a fool was comforting. "It was all lies. Danarius just didn't want to admit his experiment had… unintended consequences. This was just a piece of meat he dangled in front of his pet wolf to get him to follow. There is no key. You looked in the chest yourself and found nothing." He squeezed his eyes tighter, not wanting to think about it anymore.

As was often the case in his dreams, Fenris saw right through his own closed eyelids as Hawke quietly pulled a small golden key out of her breastband, retrieving it from her own chest. As he watched her slip it up from between her breasts, she opened her mouth, then placed the brilliantly glowing key on her tongue. Before he could ask, she quickly swallowed it, regarding him with a fond, knowing smile.

"When you're ready, Fenris. I don't want to rush you."

* * *

"M'not ready… Fenris," Hawke mumbled threateningly with an unladylike snort. "Don't wanna rush! _You_…" She shifted on her bedroll without really going anywhere, but her face scrunched up as if she was being dragged out of bed.

Fenris's eyes blinked open to the waking world at the feel of her stirring and at the sound of her voice. Her words echoed dissonantly in his ears as he tried to make sense of where the dream ended and reality began. _It is not yet light,_ he realized as his eyes struggled to adjust to the pre-dawn darkness. _The bedrolls are really here, and we are really here. I can smell her. And… _He moved his hands, feeling the softness of her gray clothes underneath one hand and the strands of her hair tangled in the other. _And I must have truly reached out for her in my sleep. _

The thought and act of touching her reminded him of the pleasant events in his dream, and Fenris stifled a groan as he became very aware of the throbbing ache straining against his leggings. His vision came sharply into focus then, and his eyes began to take in the dimly lit surroundings.

Hawke indeed had rolled onto her side and slept facing him, both her arms reaching out as if to hold him. But her hands lay folded demurely in the swath of clover between their bedrolls, clasping only one another.

_So mindful of me, even in her sleep, _Fenris mused, stroking her hair fondly as he drank in the sight of her deep in slumber. He began running his thumb over the curve of her hip through her comfortable gray pants and could just feel the barest hint of her smallclothes beneath, catching fabric against fabric. The sensation reminded him further of his dream and his need was stoked even hotter.

_I should go across the stream and… be alone, perhaps,_ he decided, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Hawke before she awoke and things got awkward. Fenris fled quickly and quietly, knowing it would not take long — the vibrant images of her were fresh in his mind, pushing away all the other, less amorous and more confusing dream images from before and after their imagined liaison.

Hawke stirred again a few minutes later, her body noticing the subtle differences that Fenris's departure had left in her surroundings. Her skin sorely missed the warm tingle of his touch and the heat that emanated from his side of the bedrolls. With the quiet, reassuring murmur of his breathing gone, the clearing grew too quiet for her ears, and they strained at every slight noise, hoping for him. The constant, soft wafting of his clean scent grew strong when he rose, then tapered off, leading her to eventually take a deep breath. It roused her enough to quest for him with her hand.

"Fenris?" she asked groggily, patting at the still-warm indentation in his bedroll. She pulled her hand back in a sudden reflex not to touch him, but it served no purpose since he was already gone. Her eyes snapped open, but she could barely see in front of her own face. "Fenris?" she whispered again, more frantically, struggling to sit up and look around.

The weather had grown thickly overcast overnight, so it was dark, deeply dark, the impenetrable darkness that comes just before dawn with no stars or moon to light the mountain-ringed clearing. Hawke's fears sometimes got the better of her imagination even at the best of times, so in this suddenly unfamiliar, lonely, heavy blackness, her heart juddered, wracked with fear that Fenris had truly gone. Nervously, she reached above the bedrolls — then she relaxed when she felt the cold, reassuring touch of metal. Fenris's sword still lay in the grass above her head.

"Thank the Maker," she sighed, flopping back down onto her back. "He wouldn't go running off for good without that…" She rubbed at her eyes, yawning. As her body began to fully awaken, she imagined, from a subtle, urgent pressure in her own body, a more reasonable scenario of why Fenris had probably left.

"Too much tea before bed," she sighed, rolling onto her hands and knees. She fished around in her pack for one of her daggers, just in case anyone else was awake this early. Then, thinking it better to go ahead and get on with her day, she hoisted the entire pack to her shoulder before quietly heading barefoot for the tree line. _I can hardly sit around in my smallclothes, undressing up on this small hill. Not with Fenris up and about. What would he say? Or do!_

By the time Hawke had dressed and made her way over to the stream to wash her hands and splash her face with water, she could hear a few subtle noises coming from the camp. _Likely Bodahn and Sandal getting breakfast ready, and a few of the other early risers,_ she wagered. She knelt on her cloak along the stream bank, scooping up handfuls of cold, clean water to drink, then to throw at her face to help wake her up. _Maker, it is inhuman to be up before dawn..._

She heard another splash from across the way and looked up in a flash, water dripping from her nose and long eyelashes. One hand reached reflexively back to grab for one of the daggers sheathed at her back, but in her lingering sleepiness, she went for the empty sheath of the one she'd left on the ground beside her left foot.

"Good morning," Fenris said simply from where he knelt directly across the stream from her. He scrubbed at his hands perfunctorily, not quite meeting her eye. "Your dagger is there, beside you, on your left."

Hawke still held a limp fist over her shoulder, fingers slowing their useless searching as she regarded him with a heady mixture of surprise, embarrassment, delight, and shyness. _I love him,_ she thought for the first time since awakening, since speaking it aloud last night when he was asleep. _I could just… say it, _she realized, heart hammering in her chest,_ and he would hear it, and then he would know._

She lowered her hand to the ground. "Other left, Hawke," Fenris teased as she felt alongside her right foot. Her arm crossed over to her other side, picking up the blade before sliding it back into its sheath.

_Thank you. I'm glad it's you. You distract me so much, I can't tell left from right. I missed you when I woke up. I feared you'd gone. I love you. _"Good morning, Fenris," she said softly instead, not looking at him as she splashed her face one final time, then wiped at it with the corner of her cloak. She settled back on her heels, cocking her head to one side as she regarded him. "What are you doing over on that side of the stream?"

He paused in the act of splashing water on his own face, kneeling stooped over the stream with his elbow propped up on one knee. "I desired… privacy," he explained, nonchalant tone not really matching his suddenly wary movements.

Hawke was too busy to notice, trying to peer down into his black shirt, which hung tantalizingly open as he leaned over the stream once more. She could just make out the barest hint of his lyrium markings, but the glint of his pewter amulet dangling down kept distracting her as it skimmed the surface of the water.

_He looks so breathtakingly beautiful out here,_ she thought, suddenly wondering if retiring to an easy life out in the countryside wouldn't be preferable to reclaiming her grandfather's estate in the middle of Hightown. _Fenris belongs out here._ _Maybe because he is an elf, or maybe just because he seems to relish quiet and solitude. Either way, it suits him, which would suit me. To see him like this, all day, every day…_

Realizing suddenly that she'd let the conversation lapse rather awkwardly, Hawke said the first thing that came to mind. "Andraste's holy backside, tell me about it. What I wouldn't give for a chamberpot and some of Danarius's fancy paper. Leaves are utterly useless."

She bit her lip when Fenris fell nearly face-first into the stream, splashing himself with a prodigious wave of water as his elbow slipped off his knee and his hands slapped down into the stream bed. _Very smooth, Marian… Maker, this is going to be a long day, I can tell. This is what happens when I am forced out of bed before a decent hour.  
_

"You say what's on your mind, I'll give you that," Fenris replied as water dripped from his face and hair. It was the same thing he'd said to her when she'd awkwardly flirted with him the first night she'd visited him. As he shook his hands off, he even began to laugh the same deep chuckle, almost a manly _giggle_, the one he'd laughed not long after that same night, when she'd made her joke about redecorating his walls with wine.

"Sorry," Hawke apologized with a wince as he drew himself back up onto the stream bank to wring out his shirtsleeves. "Didn't mean to… over-share." She fished a clean towel out of her pack and wadded it up before firing it firmly at his head. It sailed over the stream to deftly hit her mark, unfurling as it landed and draping over Fenris's white hair, partially hiding his eyes — which she hoped were dancing with amusement and not simply swimming with stream water.

"No need to apologize," came his muffled reply as he wiped his face, neck and arms with the towel. He flung it over his shoulder as he stood, crossing the stream barefoot to join her after he was mostly dried off. "At least now I am thoroughly washed up for breakfast."

Hawke stood, too, jamming her cloak into her pack before she rose fully. She accepted the towel back from Fenris with an embarrassed half-smile, trying desperately not to stare at how the wet, thin silk of his shirt clung to him, especially his solidly-built chest. _Maker, as if I needed to have another weakness for him… there is just no hope for me, is there? _She silently added his chest to the growing list of his features that drove her to utter distraction.

"You are already dressed," he said seriously, taking her hands and holding them out to her sides as he stepped back to run his eyes over her. "Boots and… everything."

He sounded a little disappointed, but she just nodded mutely, not trusting her voice at the moment. _I could get undressed rather quickly, if you wish... No, no, behave, Marian!_

"No desire to try going unshod through the Deep Roads?" Fenris teased, fighting the urge to pull her closer to smell her freshly washed face.

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he asked it, and Hawke inwardly cursed him for deigning to look so distracting still freshly awoken, freshly fallen into a stream, and as yet, freshly not yet dressed himself. "I'll let you try it first," she said airily, though it may have come out more breathless than airy. "Let me know how it works out for you, when you trod on your first slime mold." He chuckled softly, and her lips shifted sideways into a playful smile. "I could always see about buying you some shoes when I go over to look into purchasing the tents…"

"Try putting me in shoes, woman, and just see what you get," he threatened, tickling both palms of her hands by folding in his middle fingers, just as he'd done to her last night when she'd blamed him for not awakening her the day before.

An uncharacteristically shrill giggle bubbled out of Hawke as she tried to pull away, but Fenris was too strong for her. _What's this?_ he thought with a devious smile, preparing to haul her closer to investigate. _So, she is ticklish, is she..._

"Ahem," came a discreet cough from around a nearby tree. Both their heads turned in the direction of the sound, but neither could see the speaker. The sun had barely risen, and with the mountains blocking the horizon, there was as yet no direct light shining into the deep thicket of the ridge. "I, uh, hate to interrupt… whatever is going on," Varric's voice called, "but… there's a bit of a line forming for the stream, guys. Everyone else is scared shitless to come up here."

Fenris let Hawke go so she could grab her pack, then followed her as she blushed and hurried down the stream bed towards the clearing. She called back, "Sorry, Varric. Just… trying to wake up. See you at breakfast!"

Judging from the surly muttering from who was normally the cheerier of the Tethras brothers, Fenris deduced Varric was either not a morning person, very uncomfortable, or slightly hungover. _Possibly all three,_ he decided, thinking back on his conversation with Aveline at The Hanged Man, his conversation with Varric and Anders upon arriving late yesterday, and after catching the faintest whiff of sour ale on the breeze.

Fenris lengthened his stride, swinging around in front of Hawke to halt her progress back towards their bedrolls. "And just where do you think you're going?" he asked suspiciously.

"To my bedroll," she said, her confusion turning it into a slight question. "Why?"

"I can dress myself, Hawke," he pointed out. He held his own hands out to the sides, both blocking her progress and indicating his state of attire. She blushed prettily, so he added, "It would hardly be fair for me to ask your assistance when it is too late to offer you mine."

Though Fenris had hoped his early morning activity would slacken his desire for her at least temporarily, he found that it possibly had had the opposite effect. _Being near her almost constantly for days on end is taking quite a toll on me. No wonder the past three weeks have seemed both too long and not long enough. _His memory flashed back to that first night. _I found her attractive, of course, but when she started flirting with me, I would not have thought to actually wind up here._

Hawke turned away, clearing her throat and trying to look unflappable. "Very well then," she said while running her fingers through her freshly brushed hair. "I will leave you to it." She turned to march towards Varric's now-rebuilt fire, twisting back around to address Fenris after a dozen steps. He was still looking after her, both admiring the view and slightly hoping she might change her mind and prevail upon him to let her assist.

"You get to roll up my bedroll though," she added with a smirk. "And bring me my flower. I won't have you threatening me with your big sword if I come around to retrieve them too early." Fenris just raised an eyebrow, which seemed to make her flush more than if he'd actually made a witty remark about the size of his sword.

Hawke began having trouble concentrating as an onslaught of images flooded her mind. Half of them involved imagining Fenris undressing, and the other half involved clever spying schemes so she wouldn't _have_ to imagine. "I, uh… I think I ought to go see about buying those tents… perhaps one should be a big one, with room enough to dress in," she said half to herself, turning to leave again. _No rushing. Let him come to me. I love him, I must not push this. But, Maker, he makes it hard for me to resist.  
_

"Tent," Fenris corrected reflexively, specifically not using the plural. Hawke paused, glancing back at him over her shoulder, looking slightly startled and confused. _I… I want this,_ he realized, feeling startled and confused himself._ It just came out, but… it seems right. Still, maybe it is too much?_

At just the thought of taking it back, he found that his heart threatened to burst, that his lungs ceased to work, and that his tongue had already begun to dry, cleaving to the roof of his mouth. _I have always trusted my instincts before,_ he observed, since his body refused to do much else._ I should not let fear keep me from doing what I feel is right. And nothing has ever felt right like this before. _

His body relaxed as he backed down. _Yes, I would be a fool to fight a battle where the victory would be so costly. I will just have to trust my instincts on this. Still, better to have a some plan than none at all._

"The latter option. One… large tent," he clarified. "I would like that. Besides… it saves you some coin." Though he shrugged when he said it, he tried to pitch his tone to carry the significance of his meaning across the modest distance to her. She seemed to understand, because she smiled shyly and nodded once before walking away, leaving him to dress for the day.

_That is Fenris, always being... practical. I am starting to adore his frugality, _Hawke mused as she angled for the ox drivers' camp instead of Varric's fire. She went without hesitation, since, for the first time since they'd met, her reluctance to leave Fenris had abated. Suddenly, she found had no doubt that he would come find her as soon as he was ready.

* * *

Not even the combined grumpiness of Varric and Anders at breakfast could dampen Fenris's mood that morning. At first, anyway.

"You even chew like an ox, Blondie. Can't you keep your smacking to a dull roar?"

Varric practically draped himself over his own bowl of porridge, head held in one hand, a slow and deliberate spoon held in the other. Fenris's own ears thrust backwards a little in agreement with the dwarf's observation, as if trying to close themselves off to the annoying noise of the apostate breakfasting beside him.

"When I was with the Wardens in Amaranthine, the Warden-Commander would share her morning coffee with me," Anders sniffed unhappily, audibly scraping his wooden spoon into his wooden bowl. Despite the grating noise, Fenris raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, not having heard much mention of coffee since he left Seheron. It was a rare commodity, even there, on the sole, embattled island where it grew.

"I would kill for some of the stuff right about now. _Balls_," Anders sighed wistfully, looking up into the distance as he sucked down more porridge. "Not that breakfast tea isn't great, but…"

Hawke glanced up from her own breakfast to peek at Fenris's face, which was predictably growing dark just at Anders's joking reference to ending someone's life. "He doesn't mean to _literally _kill anyone, Fenris," she teased. Fenris just gave her a flat look, though he seemed a little less sour.

Then she turned to Anders. "Coffee? I smuggled some of that for Athenril once. Qunari grow it, don't they? Huge profit margin." She tapped at her lip with her spoon. "Wish I'd nicked some to try, now that I know the Queen of Ferelden is drinking it every morning." At that, Fenris began to chuckle, so she went back to eating.

"I have tried it," he ventured as she scooped up a spoonful of porridge, filling the small lull in the conversation. Everyone looked at him curiously, which was a curious sensation in its own right. He shrugged, despite the odd feeling of being the center of attention. "It is good."

He did not elaborate, or go into how the Fog Warriors had been the ones who'd shared their coffee with him during the months he stayed with them. The rebels in the jungles of Seheron grew the beans and often times also stole them from both Qunari and Imperium farms, selling it on the black market for hefty profits to fund their resistance. The Fog Warriors also drank it often, to thumb their noses at the Qunari and Imperium, who each desired the pricy commodity, but also to fuel their own warriors' energies. _Plus, it __**was**__ good_, Fenris remembered_._

Hawke leaned across the table towards him, familiar gleam of her curiosity glinting in her eyes. "Really? What's it like?" she asked, rapt with attention, eyes only for him.

Fenris shrugged again, enumerating the drink's qualities for her as best he could remember. "Dark. Complex. Sometimes bitter. And quite hot_._"

Her lips twitched up into a sly smile as she gave him a meaningful look. "Sounds a lot like something I already like."

She reached over to a small jar of honey that sat on their table, pointedly adding a drizzle to her tea before she took a sip. Fenris reached for his own cup, feeling his mouth go dry as he realized what she'd meant by her comment.

"Perhaps," she continued, looking up at him after she lowered her cup, "much like tea, something like that would be even better if tempered with a little… sweetness?"

Fenris's eyebrow began to creep upward, but any flirtatious, flattering retorts he could think of, about sweet things, cream, or how he he'd be happy to show Hawke just how he preferred to take his own coffee with both, were chased away, first by Anders's pained groaning, and then by the arrival of a gawker.

"Andraste's secret bollocks," a wide-eyed hireling swore as he walked up to the end of their small folding table, standing between Hawke and Fenris. The man gave Fenris a nervous glance before turning back to Hawke with wide and incredulous eyes. "Did you really drink a whole flagon of dwarven ale last night and ask for _more_?" he asked her. "What… who… why…?" The man's jaw worked soundlessly as he gaped down at her.

Varric barked a laugh, then winced and clutched at his head. Anders groaned again in resignation, as this was the fourth such interruption to their breakfast. Fenris just watched warily, ready to throttle the hireling if the man tarried overlong or got too familiar with Hawke.

Hawke did not look up, turning instead back to her breakfast. "Indeed. Twas a pity that it was so weak, though. I usually prefer my dwarven ale so thick that I have to use a _spoon_." She emphatically dragged her porridge spoon against her bowl. Her movements betrayed no falsehood, and her practiced tone was perfect — though Fenris could easily identify the hint of amusement in her voice that gave away her lie.

"How are you even _eating_?" the hireling asked, pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at her porridge. "I had a sip one o' that dwarven ale one time. One sip, a _single_ sip, mind you, _once_, as a _joke_." The man shuddered violently. "I threw it up right away and couldn't keep anythin' down 'cept water for three whole days."

Hawke just shrugged, taking an extra large spoonful of porridge. If anything, the hireling's eyes went wider. Fenris, in his unusually jovial mood, decided to chime in.

"Three days? What a coincidence, as that is her third bowl of porridge," he lied, pointing at his own empty bowls that he'd stacked between Hawke and himself.

_If anyone can best Hawke and Varric in lying, it is I. I have been lying to strangers for three years now. _Through the careful control of his expression, Fenris avoided any hint of deceit — or smugness, when the rest of his companions all gave him yet another appraising look. _You see? _he thought,_ I can join in your little games too, if I wish._

"What? Blood of Andraste, no! Is she even truly a _woman_?"

To Fenris's surprise, the hireling asked it of him directly, of all people, before turning to look at Hawke again. _I see that my predictions about rumors spreading quickly throughout the expedition crew have proven to be accurate,_ Fenris thought dryly. Yet, he found that he was not displeased in the slightest.

The man staggered a few steps back from Hawke as she continued to calmly eat porridge while she regarded him back. "You're crazy!" he accused. "You are a mad-woman, you are. You ain't right. You've got to have a stomach made of stone! You're not… human!" He fled, looking a bit sick and green of the face.

They all watched the hireling scamper off, waiting for the man to disappear before they reacted.

Hawke just sighed and rolled her eyes, though she did give a soft, amused snort as the hireling reached a group of his fellows and started pointing emphatically in her direction. A thin, unintelligible but clearly frantic conversation took place across the field, and Hawke gave the group a polite wave.

"Nice escalation, elf," Varric said appreciatively in a low mutter, lips barely moving in an effort to avoid being overheard by the other hirelings who were still eating nearby. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Fenris shrugged, going back to finishing his final bowl of porridge. "There is a lot you don't know about me."

Varric cackled at his retort, seemingly healed a little by the rousing success of his latest tall tale. Or it could possibly have been that his large mug of elfroot tea was finally beginning to kick in. Either way, the younger Tethras brother seemed to be feeling better.

Anders scoffed at Fenris's remark from where he sat beside him, then began to choke on his breakfast. Fenris felt no inclination whatsoever to reach over and slap the mage on the back. If anything, he attacked his own third bowl of porridge with renewed vigor, appetite restored. Hawke sighed and went around the table to pound on Anders, sliding over the mage's own steaming hot cup of tea in front of him before she sat back down.

"Thank you," Anders coughed, shooting Fenris a sour glare over the lip of his cup. "I'm not usually this clumsy," he said after he set down his drink. "I just sleep very poorly since becoming a Warden, and it only gets worse in the Deep Roads. Makes it hard to concentrate."

Fenris rolled his eyes, pushing his empty bowl away and crossing his arms on the table as he waited for Hawke to finish. She seemed to be taking her time now that she wasn't trying to horrify the hireling; she'd resumed eating more methodically, as usual. Put in mind of his own eating habits, Fenris tentatively wiped at his face. He was soon glad that he had, for he found a small smear of porridge on his cheek. He quickly sucked it off his thumb, then ensured that the rest of his face was clean before he flicked the hair out of his eyes to watch Hawke again.

She tutted and sighed around a mouthful of food, giving Anders a sympathetic look. "At least you'll have your own tent permanently, now," she said with a shrug once she swallowed. "You won't have to squeeze in with Varric or something. Hopefully that will help. Right?"

Anders looked away, pointedly not glancing at Fenris as he nodded once. "Can't hurt, I guess," he responded, sounding sullen. He quickly drained his tea, then pushed himself to his feet. "I'm full." Without another word, he strode away towards the tent Hawke had set up then yielded to him last night.

Hawke lifted an eyebrow at Anders's back, then shot a questioning glance to both Fenris and Varric. Neither of them said anything, however, honoring the unspoken male code to never discuss such things if it could possibly be helped. Since no one was in imminent danger of dying, Hawke finally had to shrug and give up. She set about cleaning her bowl.

_Anders will hardly be a threat now,_ Fenris decided as he easily kept his mouth closed and face implacable. _Besides, it will just upset her to learn that she herself is the cause of Bethany's poor parting with the abomination. If she hasn't figured it out on her own by now, I certainly will not be the one to tell her. _He wanted to shake his head, but he remained still. _Not that her sister isn't truly better off. Hawke and her schemes…_

Fenris realized full well, however, that he could hardly disparage Hawke's scheming. It had led to him meeting her, along with everything that had happened since. Including her most recent scheme, the pre-breakfast procurement of a nicely-sized tent from the ox drivers who were even now heading back to Kirkwall after still refusing to come along into the Deep Roads, much to Bartrand's vociferous displeasure. Hawke had returned from their small camp triumphant, bearing a good-sized bundle of canvas, poles and rope, and joking that the ox drivers claimed what she 'drove' was hard bargains.

Fenris shifted on the bench, growing nervous at the thought of sharing a tent with Hawke for the rest of the expedition, despite it being he who had ultimately urged her into it. _It will be… nice, _he told himself reassuringly. _Just like last night, or the night before. Nothing need happen, and so far it seems to keep the worst of the nightmares away. Last night's dream wasn't so bad, by my usual standards._ _I even remembered the good parts._ He shifted again, more discreetly and pointedly.

Thinking of his dream also reminded him of how tantalizingly vulnerable his dream Hawke had seemed, all alone, out in the open, with him chasing her. _This will keep her from being pawed at by the other hirelings, _he told himself,_ and the tent sounds large enough to give her a place to change and wash. I also swore to protect her, to remain at her side. How better than this? _He felt better about it, thinking of it in such practical terms.

_Yes,_ he decided. _It was the right decision. And it saved her some coin, not having to purchase another tent just for me to sleep in alone. _He began to smile slightly, feeling better than he'd felt in a long time — quite possibly since his time in Seheron around a similar breakfast table enjoying the jovial, confident company of the Fog Warriors.

"Maker, but I can't stand being up this early," Varric griped. "I guess I should have gone easy on the ale, but being around Bartrand just makes me want a drink." He scratched at his stubbly chin. "Besides… someone had to breach the barrel and make sure it hadn't gone bad before we head down into the Deep Roads."

Hawke laughed. "So _that's_ why you took rooms at The Hanged Man, then. You're a philanthropic, freelance ale inspector with a powerful thirst due to a rude brother."

Varric sat up very straight and screwed his face up into a respectable likeness of Bartrand. "Varric! See to it that the sun rises in the west! Varric! Find me a chicken to milk and a cow that lays eggs! Varric! Wake up at the buttcrack of dawn so I have someone to yell at!" He punctuated each demand with a fist pounded on the table, then a comical, resigned chug of his tea, which was in an ale mug — he'd needed a large portion to chase off his hangover.

Fenris had to admit it was a good imitation of Bartrand; even his ears had to struggle to tell the difference. It made him chuckle along with Hawke. _This dwarf is not so bad, even if he is a little… nosy. And short._

Varric slumped back to his normal relaxed posture, laugh fading to a tired groan. "Well, at least you two woke up on time today. Saved me one task I didn't want to do. Between the your reputation, Hawke, and your ridiculous sword, elf, no one else would have wanted to go over there to wake you."

Fenris briefly wondered who had seen him moving Hawke's bedroll last night, but quickly decided it was pointless. _In a group that travels together, there are no secrets — or if there are, there soon won't be._ He fidgeted on the bench again, though he knew that he'd had strangers think far worse of him before. _Having these men assume I could bed someone as beautiful as Hawke? That is quite a step up for me_, he mused.

Hawke chuckled, not surprised that Varric had known about their shared campsite, though she had not considered how he knew. "I wouldn't have gotten up for hours if I could, but Fenris wound up waking me before dawn."

Varric, who was in the process of draining his mug, nearly tilted right off the back of the bench. He narrowly avoided it by grabbing onto the edge of the table with one hand, steadying himself. "Whoa, stop right there, Hawke," he coughed, setting his empty mug down heavily. He hopped off the side of the bench and grabbed Bianca. "I uh… think I hear Bartrand. Gotta go."

Hawke sighed as he scurried off first in one direction, then another. She slowly looked to Fenris. "We… seem to have become the talk of the camp," she said carefully. "Or pointedly not, in Varric's case."

Fenris shrugged, looking away. "I am used to scrutiny. More than most." Hawke chuckled softly, but when she, too, looked away, her expression was sad. "Does… the talk bother you?" he asked after a quiet moment, having taken note of her expression as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Fenris's question pulled Hawke away from her unhappy thoughts of how hunted and alone he must have been all these years and put her in mind instead of her time in King Cailan's army. She thought back with a small measure of chagrin at the small but irksome reputation she'd unintentionally made for herself in the army, due to her brief dalliances with a few men.

_It's not like I was indiscriminate, _she thought defensively, as she always had. _I cared for all three of them, in a way. They all certainly had their charms, though there was little chance of any of the relationships leading anywhere except… well, a cozy tent for a span of nights. But I suppose some jealous others saw it as just some parade of men. _

She sniffed with a small measure of pride that all three men had been reluctant to leave her; when the squire's rotation changed, he'd talked of leaving his knight's service; and the lieutenant, who was sent out on long scouting mission that had not even returned by the battle of Ostagar, he had wanted her to join his regiment. _And I did have to send that adorable musician packing before the battle, so he wouldn't wind up playing his lute for the Maker and Andraste instead of at inns and taverns. _

Hawke was not exactly proud of everything she'd done, but neither would she wallow in shame over it. _If not for John's unexpected constancy or his untimely death, it might have seemed less like a self-betrayal. It might have been smoothed over, or I might have had to deal with some consequences. Either way, the guilt might have been less. But… I will never know, now. _Instead, she tried to think of it all as a learning experience, rather than beat herself up about the past. _There is no undoing it, after all. May as well learn from your mistakes and give them some meaning._

Even though he was looking down now, Hawke gave Fenris a nervous smile as she realized that, if she and he ever did manage to take their relationship in the direction she now hoped it would go, she would have to explain a few things about her past to him. _Maker, at least our relationship is never boring… Hopefully he will not be jealous or taken aback.  
_

"As long as it does not bother you," she finally said in response to his question. Fenris had been digging his fingernail into the wood of the tabletop, and she stilled his nervous fidgeting by running her index finger down the side of his own.

He did not look up from staring at the table, but his thumb moved to caress her finger back. "Well…" he responded quietly, "then I guess it is settled." Despite his hair hiding his downturned face, she could tell when he spoke that he was pleased — which pleased her, too.

Thinking of her time in the army, Hawke began to wonder something about Fenris. _Has he ever..._

Her thought was interrupted as Sandal came over just then to clear away their dishes. Fenris moved to stand, not wanting another strange interaction with the savant. Hawke grabbed his hand fully, however, so he froze, then sat back down to face her again. Her expression was serious, and she flicked her eyes to Sandal, indicating she was waiting for the dwarf to leave. She also did not let his hand go.

"Done, please!" Sandal said with a big smile in lieu of a parting before he carried the teetering stack of bowls, cups and mugs back to Bodahn's mess tent. Fenris watched him go, slightly amazed yet again that the dwarf's hands were so steady, especially after the careful way he'd carried Fenris's single dish last night after dinner.

"Thank you, Sandal," Hawke called after him, before turning back to Fenris with concerned eyes. "Before we go, I wanted to ask. You haven't… fought darkspawn before, have you?"

Fenris shook his head, thinking that darkspawn were one of the few problems he hadn't encountered on his journey south. "No. The Blight did not directly affect the Free Marches. Not where I was, at least."

Hawke nodded, leaning towards him as she nervously rubbed her thumb across his fingertips. "Be extremely careful if… when we encounter them," she said quietly. Fenris made to protest; he was always careful. But she squeezed his fingers to forestall him. Her voice grew uncharacteristically insistent.

"Fenris, please, _listen_. Trust me, this is something I am very familiar with." After a brief pause, he nodded, so she continued. "Do not let any of their blood get into any open wounds. Do not let it get into your mouth, your eyes, your nose. Do not let their weapons pierce you. The taint is passed by blood easily, and it is a _death sentence_. You either die slowly, turning into a thrall yourself, or, if you're lucky, someone will mercifully spare you that fate by… ending your life."

He sighed, not wishing to be lectured to. _Does she think I am a fool, that I have not heard of darkspawn before? Where is this going?_

"If you get hurt, you must let Anders heal you. Promise me this?" Hawke asked.

She held his eyes, and Fenris could see that hers were deep with worry. He hesitated, frowning. _Ah, the abomination. I have not had to feel his much-vaunted healing since I first met her. _His frown deepened.

"None of us can risk letting even the smallest wound heal on its own," she explained. "It is too dicey, between coming in contact with darkspawn blood and just the presence of the blight down there in the Deep Roads. I do not want to have to watch anyone die because of the taint again, like Aveline's husband, Wesley, did." She paused for a heartbeat. "Especially… not you, Fenris."

Observing the open, tender, and also stricken expression on her face, Fenris found himself swallowing hard at almost the same time she did.

Hawke squeezed his hand, looking away as she found herself unable to keep his gaze without saying more in a rush. She added silently, _I don't want you to die. I couldn't bear to lose you to the darkspawn, too._ _I love you_.

Fenris remained silent for a time, absorbing what she said. "Very well," he finally responded hoarsely, throat a little closed off because of the intensity of her words — her final entreaty in particular. "I do not fear death, but that does not mean I would welcome it. I promise that I will be cautious. Extra cautious, in fact, if I have to let… _Anders_ heal me."

"As you wish," she chuckled softly, giving his fingers a final caress before releasing him. "And I will be watching to make sure you keep your word. Even down to the stubbing of your smallest toe." He chuckled too, shaking his head as he remembered her vast concern for his toes the first night she had visited him.

Hawke's hands reflexively picked up Fenris's vambraces as he pulled his gloves out from where they were tucked behind his belt. His other hand was already reaching for his sword as she said, "I'm glad you've got that huge sword, and that you're so skilled with it. Likely, the darkspawn won't even be able to touch you. Still, I wanted to make sure you were aware. No needless risks." She gave him a private smile as they both stood before moving a few steps away from the table. She turned to wait for him to hook his aforementioned sword on his back. "Trying not to be reckless, you see," she added when he finally looked to her.

Fenris stepped close, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, brushing his fingertips against it just as he had done the previous night. "See that you take care yourself, Hawke," he half teased, half chided gently. "You are the reason we are all here, after all." _I am here to protect you. I owe you much, but I also do not think I could bear it if something happened to you._

She shivered a little but better maintained her composure this time, smiling roguishly up at him. Hawke trailed the black feathers of his vambraces down his arms, trying to tickle him. "Didn't Varric tell you? I'm the hero of this story. That means I can't die." _Neither can you, because the hero always lives happily ever after. _Her brows crinkled in sudden consternation. _Wait, that's actually the princess…_

Fenris chuckled at her expression, thinking she was frustrated that he wasn't ticklish. _Not that I know of…_ "Perhaps I should let you do most of the fighting, then," he said, tilting his face up thoughtfully.

She gave him a wry smile and they lingered together chuckling at one another for a little longer, until a now-familiar and slightly hoarse voice interrupted their quiet moment with shouting. "Varric! Where's that damn partner of yours now? Girly! Let's sodding well get on with this!"

"Adventure awaits, and duty calls… or yells," Hawke said with a sigh. "Let's go discover some treasure, shall we?"

"Indeed," Fenris agreed, pulling on his gloves and walking beside her as they went to make final preparations for entering the Deep Roads.

As she handed over his vambraces, Fenris made two priceless discoveries himself — first, that Hawke was very ticklish behind her knee, and, second, that he could elicit her earlier high-pitched giggle with this knowledge, with the help of the feathers on his vambraces, whenever he wished.

_Barely finished with breakfast, and already paid another fine day's wages, _he thought with satisfaction as he clicked the vambraces shut and lined up in front of the yawning, black Deep Roads entrance. _Perhaps this will not be so long an expedition after all?_

* * *

Fenris found the Deep Roads to be every bit as unenjoyable as Anders had said, and it rankled that he had to agree with the apostate about something. The Deep Roads almost seemed worse than he had been warned, in fact, given the contrast between the dark, foul, abandoned underground tunnel, and his pleasant time spent out in the countryside with Hawke. Topping off the unpleasantness was the fact that Anders himself had been assigned the rearguard with Fenris.

_This is going to be a very long expedition, _he thought, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose._ Anders is such a complete ass._

"I just don't see what good I can do from back here," Anders griped, for about the seventh time that hour. "Why didn't Bartrand leave me out front? I did a good job at the front of the line, yesterday… A really good job, in fact. This isn't fair." Fenris just ignored the mage, as he had first resolved to do when Bartrand had lined everyone up to proceed into the Deep Roads after the morning's preparations had ended.

"Varric, girly, you're up front," the elder Tethras brother had commanded. "You're supposed to be scouts, so, by the Ancestors, sodding scout! If we're going to run into sodding darkspawn, I want you where you can actually be useful."

Behind Hawke and Varric's vanguard, Bartrand had sent the carts containing the excavation gear, so the machinery and tools for clearing the path would be readily available. That the tunnel would eventually require excavation was a definite 'when' and not an 'if,' according to everything Bartrand, Varric, and Anders indicated.

Hirelings were interspersed throughout the line since they had to manually pull the carts, now that the oxen had returned to Kirkwall. Once Fenris learned he himself was not expected to serve as a beast of burden, he decided that he rather preferred things this way. _The smell of the Deep Roads is bad enough without being compounded by aroma of ox droppings — to say nothing of the already less than desirable footing._

A few carts of camp supplies came next, with Bodahn and his boy bringing up the rear, once again. Fenris and Anders had been the last ones in, charged with ensuring that nobody changed their minds or fell behind, and that no spiders, darkspawn, or other corrupted creatures of the deep snuck up on the group from the rear.

"You two, at the very back," Bartrand had said, running a shrewd eye over Fenris and Anders. "You look like the biggest of your bunch anyway. Unlikely as that seems." Indeed, the two of them were the tallest and broadest of all of Hawke's companions, despite being an elf and a mage, respectively. _Aveline might be bigger than me,_ Fenris had mused. _It is hard to tell with her heavy armor. But she is back in Kirkwall. Lucky her...  
_

Some of the human hirelings were brawnier and of a height with them, but none of them knew how to wield a sword or magic. Also, Bartrand didn't trust the hirelings not to turn tail and flee at the first sign of trouble, or to dig out the rest of the expedition should a cave-in occur.

"I'll feel much safer, knowing you two are back here," Hawke had said before the Deep Roads entrance had been sealed behind them, taking them both by the hand and flashing them an encouraging smile. Anders seemed to puff up at that, though Fenris had not cared about the rear assignment, except insomuch it meant he would be seeing a lot of Anders and not much of her.

"Don't worry," she'd added with a roguish grin as she backed away to head to front, releasing them, "you'll hear me calling for you if things get exciting up there. Wouldn't want you to miss out on all the adventure." Fenris had rather envied her excitement and optimism at first, trying to emulate it, but it had soured on him as his mood changed to match the bleak surroundings.

The tunnels were pitch black just a few yards inside the entrance, so flickering torchlight was the only illumination to be had. Trying to focus on the path ahead with the constantly wavering light of the many torches made Fenris's sensitive eyes hurt. He did not carry a torch himself, needing to keep his hands free. Anders had also refused to carry one, preferring to illuminate their way using his staff. The bluish glow of the magically lit staff made Fenris even more uncomfortable, though the soft, steady light was a little less wearying on his eyes. _Not that I have any intention of telling Anders that,_ he thought, mouth set in a sullen moue.

The smell of sweaty bodies, torch fuel, and smoke wafted back behind the convoy, mixing with the stale, sour odor of the Deep Roads itself, further making Fenris's head ache. Something about the mixture put him in mind of escorting Danarius through the streets of Seheron in the swelteringly hot summer nights — the old magister had religiously attended the debauched galas thrown by the other prominent Imperial citizens, even in between the days of fighting pitched battles with the Qunari. Fortunately, Varric and Bartrand both seemed to think that once they got deeper in, towards the main tunnels, there should be fresher air from the ducts, and more illumination from the ancient lava channels, both of which the ancient dwarves had ingeniously built into their vast underground network — and which seemed to have failed rather spectacularly near this particular entrance.

The abandoned tunnel vacillated between hot and dry, and cool and damp, leading to uncomfortable bouts of sweating, followed by slight chills. In the warm areas, the road was remarkably smooth except for an undisturbed, fine layer of dust and grit, indicating that this path was indeed quite virginal. In the moist areas, however, there were dark pools of fetid water ringed with patches of slimy, slippery fungi and mold. The walls wept with condensation, and trickles of liquid glinted in the meager light of the torches. Anders took a special interest in the shinier stuff that seemed to coat everything.

"The blight that ravages the entire Deep Roads manifests as an oily, filthy… goo," he explained, without Fenris prompting him. "The darkspawn infect the very stone around them. This, here, looks like ordinary scum, but once we start seeing the real gunk, we'll need to take special care." The mage looked around the widening tunnel, one ear cocked upwards as if he was listening to some unheard, distant noise. "I don't sense anything nearby. Not yet. But… running into darkspawn is inevitable, down here."

_Why does he think I care?_ Fenris wondered, gritting his teeth. _I sincerely hope he does not think our mutual admiration for Hawke makes us… friends. _His lip began to curl up into an involuntary sneer at the very idea, shoulders tensing even further and head pounding as his anger seemed to thrum at his temples. _No,_ he decided, _he probably just likes hearing the sound of his own voice. _He began to walk a little faster, leaving the apostate behind to ponder his precious slimes... even as he, himself, nearly slipped on one.

Without the telltale movement of the sun as a guide, the hours seemed to drag by, and it did not help that every step seemed much like the last, and also the next. Except for the occasional change in climate from wet to dry, and the very gradual widening of the tunnel, there was very little feeling that any progress was being made. Bartrand had a complicated dwarven clock mounted in one of the carts that he alone was allowed to check, not trusting the expensive and delicate device to anyone, even Varric.

_We are rather at his mercy, _Fenris thought with suspicion and resignation as the procession paused so Bartrand could check the mysterious thing. _Let us hope he is not a fool, and that he does not drive us all to exhaustion in some misguided attempt to rush things._

But, though Bartrand continued to act as surly and testy to everyone as ever, he did halt their march at approximately what felt like lunchtime, allowing for a brief respite and a quick meal before getting back underway. Hawke had immediately noticed Fenris's discomfort and pressed him into drinking a mug of elfroot tea, which he had finally agreed to do when she whispered a threat to have Anders heal him.

"Andraste's squinty eyes, Fenris, I can tell by your face that all of this is getting to you. Just drink the tea! How hard is that?" She'd hissed it into his ear, not wanting to start a rumor with the crew that they were having a row.

"You and your elfroot tea, woman," he'd growled back as he snatched the cup away, feeling irritated even by her. "Who haven't you forced to drink some yet? Bianca?" He had thrown back the cup of the hot liquid, leaves and all, then stormed away without another word. The fact that the tea did seem to help his headache only chafed more. _Meddlesome woman. Why she is always so optimistic I will never understand._

After lunch, their path started to become more difficult and evidence of the tunnel's decay became more noticeable as they descended deeper. Cracks in the walls and ceiling began to appear with increasing frequency, then widened, and soon the tunnel floor became ever more littered with fallen rocks. More than a few times, the procession halted entirely as the carts had to be maneuvered, one by one, over or around large stones, wide rents in the floor, or up precarious mounds of loose rubble.

Fenris and Anders were called upon to assist on one occasion, when Hawke and Varric came across a huge slab of smooth ceiling stone that had fallen in, blocking the way forward. Before breaking out the excavation gear, which would have taken over an hour, Hawke prevailed on Bartrand to let her scout ahead first.

Anders had volunteered to heat the slab of dwarven-poured stone with a few fireballs, then shatter it with a barrage of ice. Apparently, he had done something similar during his time in the Deep Roads before, with the Wardens. Fenris then knocked a hole through the cracked slab using a dwarven great hammer that Bodahn had stowed away in his cart. He had not minded the labor, relishing it, in fact, as it had felt good to take out his increasing aggression on something.

Hawke busied herself first by watching appreciatively, then by bringing them some fruit and water. Afterwards, she had gone through the small opening Fenris had created, exploring the other side to see if the way through was further blocked up on ahead.

While he tiredly ate an apple, Fenris found he was undecided about whether or not he wanted there to be a path forward or not. _I suppose it would be a waste to have to turn back already… but I do not look forward to a week of this, if this is how the entire journey to the lost thaig is going to be. Assuming there is a lost thaig. Feels more like a lost cause..._

Hawke's torchlight eventually reappeared a few minutes later, then her head poked out of the hole. She grinned and nodded excitedly to Varric, who took the torch and scuttled off to tell Bartrand to have the hirelings break out the pickaxes. She pulled herself through the gap in the wall, which was tight enough that she had to squeeze and wriggle to dislodge herself. _I am too out of sorts down here to even appreciate that, _Fenris thought, rubbing between his eyes again. His only comfort was that Anders did not seem to be doing much better.

Hawke plopped down to sit between them, folding her legs in and leaning against the wall to keep out of the way of the hirelings, who began to bust out a hole large enough for the carts. "So, this is exciting, is it not? Did you see all the dwarven runes on the walls? I wonder what they say!"

Anders and Fenris both made disinterested, half-hearted grunts, but Hawke chatted on, undeterred. "Probably something like 'This way to treasure!' or 'Keep left.'" Her chuckle echoed through the tunnel, though it was quickly swallowed up by the tapping of metal against stone and the sound of rock chips hitting the floor.

"So, how are you two?" she asked brightly, looking between them. "All quiet in the back, no one lagging behind to do more than just… avail themselves of the facilities?"

Fenris and Anders both grimaced at that and neither responded. One of the only disadvantages of the rearguard was that they had to wait for the stragglers to catch back up, and so far that particular reason had been only cause for straggling. _It's like guarding outside Danarius's lavatory all over again, _Fenris thought with disgust.

Sensing that neither of her companions was reacting to her not-inconsiderable charms, Hawke tried a different tact. "There is a big, glowing vein of raw lyrium ahead," she sang softly. "It looks pretty amazing." Anders perked up, looking at her. Fenris looked down at the markings on his palm, scowling.

"Really? Are you sure?" Anders asked. Hawke nodded. "I rather enjoyed it when we came across lyrium when I was last down here," he mused. "Sometimes it would just... pop up overnight, someplace we'd recently passed. Even though just touching the unprocessed stuff would kill me, it gave me hope for the future of mages, knowing that even the Chantry doesn't have access to every last bit of lyrium in the world."

Hawke snorted. "You've put _way_ too much thought into this, Anders. Maker, can't a lyrium vein just be _beautiful_?"

"No," Fenris growled, closing his lyrium-lined hand into a tight fist. Her head swiveled to him, expression growing concerned.

"Fenris…" she said, tone pleading, but he was already standing.

"I'll be at the rear, waiting for us to move on." He held in a sneeze as bits of rock dust from the ongoing excavation increasingly irritated his sensitive nose. "I… need some air." He stalked away, not wanting to hear more about lyrium, Anders's supposed mage oppression, nor have Hawke press him into drinking more tea just for sneezing at dust.

She followed anyway, and he was out of sorts enough that he did not hear her soft approach over the sound of pickaxes and falling chunks of stone. As he passed Bodahn's cart, Fenris sneezed three times in succession, so massively that he staggered and leaned against the wall, feeling a bit lightheaded.

"Venhedis!" he cursed with each sneeze, burying his face into the crook of his arm — it had only taken one sneeze while wearing his gloves, years ago, to put him into that particular habit.

Hawke's red handkerchief was already dangling in front of his face by the time he opened his eyes and looked up. "Goodness. Maker bless you thrice over, Fenris," she said with a chuckle as he accepted the cloth from her.

She waited until he finished blowing his nose before she reached up to push his hair out of his eyes, since it had all fallen forward when he'd sneezed. He relaxed a little at the now-familiar feel of her tender gesture, and at the comforting, strong scent of her on her handkerchief.

"Why did you follow me, Hawke?" he croaked, before clearing his throat. "You belong at the front."

She shrugged nonchalantly, shooing her hands to indicate he should hold on to the handkerchief. "Please, you keep it. And my place is wherever I feel like. I'm a partner too, whether Bartrand cares to act like it or not." Fenris folded the cloth into a small square before tucking it carefully into his left vambrace.

"Besides," she added with a sniff, "I've taken it upon myself to see to the morale of my crew." Hawke gave him a broad smile then, leaning in conspiratorially. "That would mean you, by the by."

Fenris found himself shaking his head softly at her unflappable spirit. "Doesn't any of this… bother you?" he asked incredulously. He waved one clawed hand around, taking in the pitch black tunnel behind them, and the crowded, smoke-hazed, flickering path in front. His question was punctuated by the distant sounds of water dripping out of rhythm somewhere, and the dissonant clanging and shouting of the excavation going on at the front.

She shrugged, eying the wall next to her for slime before she rested against it, facing where he still leaned against the wall from his disabling sneezes. "No? I dunno… It's not so bad. Yet." She paused. "It could certainly be worse."

Fenris rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Do not say that, Hawke. Now it assuredly _will_ get worse."

That only made her laugh. "I had no idea you were superstitious, Fenris," she teased. "What does one do to ward off bad luck again? Knock on wood?" She quickly pulled her glove off with her teeth and reached over to rap on Bodahn's cart.

"I do not believe in superstitions, Hawke," he explained, crossing his arms. "I believe in _you_, for things always seem to… happen, around you. Especially when you think they won't."

"Hmm, I can hardly argue with you there," she replied after pulling her glove out of her teeth. "I _am_ always around when things happen to me."

"Very humorous," he said dryly, rolling his eyes again. "But you know what I meant. You take me to strange places, where stranger things tend to occur." He thought of the encounters they'd had along the Wounded Coast, the Bone Pit, and throughout Kirkwall — with the Qunari, blood mages, Templars, prostitutes, a Chantry sister, the viscount and his son, and everyone else in between.

"I'll take you to stranger places yet, just watch," she teased. He just gave her a flat look.

"Come on, Fenris, work with me here." Hawke sighed heavily. "Don't think I won't juggle lit torches, if you persist in being gloomy," she finally threatened, fixing him with a glance and a raised eyebrow, which she pointed at. "I'll risk losing this if I have to, to cheer you up."

Fenris almost reached out to trace her eyebrow with his thumb, then remembered he was wearing his gloves. "Do not concern yourself with me, Hawke," he said instead, letting his hands drop to his sides. "It is just… this place. I am not used to it all, yet. The strangers, the darkness, the _smells_…" He screwed up his face a little just talking about it.

_The last place I wanted to bring him is somewhere dark and depressing, _Hawke thought, wishing they'd had more time to enjoy the open countryside before venturing underground. She gave Fenris a sympathetic look, reaching over with her ungloved hand to squeeze his gloved one briefly before she opened a pouch at her belt.

As she looked down to dig around in it, Fenris flexed his hand, missing the feel of her after that fleeting touch on his exposed palm. _Tonight,_ he reminded himself. _I will get to be with her all night. I just have to endure until then._

He felt his nose start to tingle again, but in a pleasant way. She straightened, pulling out the embrium flower from a pouch at her belt. The petals looked a little creased from being tucked away, but it was staying remarkably fresh for having been picked almost a day ago.

"Here," she said, reaching up to nestle the flower into the gap left between his chest and chestplate, where the metal guard pointed forward to block upward thrusts of incoming blades. It also just happened to be a perfect place to discreetly carry a flower, of all things.

_I do not think the smith had this in mind when he designed my armor,_ Fenris thought wryly as the warm, soothing smell of the healing plant wafted up to his nose. He sighed deeply, but breathed a little easier for the first time since entering the Deep Roads. The stale odors of the tunnel were still there, but the embrium helped to mask them, making it much more bearable.

"Better?" Hawke asked quietly, letting her hand rest against the metal chestplate as she leaned in to sniff too. _His tunic smells like grass from laying out to dry last night,_ she discovered, much to her delight. _He smells so fresh and clean. So natural. And the leather of his armor smells… manly. I just want to bury my nose in and take in his warm scent. _She held herself back by keeping her hand pressed against his heavily armored chest.

Fenris gave her a hesitant nod, starting to feel badly about his earlier irritation with her. _She was just trying to help, _he thought, sighing. _She is always trying to help, and yet I always take out my anger on her. It was wrong of me to do so.  
_

"I apologize for my earlier shortness with you, Hawke," he said plainly, looking into her eyes. "It was unworthy of me, but more unworthy of you. Forgive me."

Her smile softened and she chuckled. "Nothing to forgive, Fenris. I know it is stressful down here, and it is likely to become even more so as we go further in. No doubt something will soon get to me, too, and I'll be begging _your_ forgiveness before you know it."

He returned her smile with a crooked one, noticing how her hand still lingered on his chest. "I will not have much choice but to forgive you. Otherwise, it will make sharing a tent rather difficult." That made her blush, which made him smile more deeply. Her closeness, her scent, and the smell of the flower had all put him in mind of their time in the tree yesterday, and those pleasant memories buoyed his mood. And his arousal.

She cleared her throat, trying to think of a witty comeback while she traced a finger against his metal chestplate. "True," she finally said thoughtfully. "But I could always make you bunk with Varric or Anders, you know." He raised an incredulous eyebrow at the very suggestion, which made her smirk. "My tent, my rules, Fenris."

That made him remember his dream, when she had forestalled his ascent to their bedrolls until he was suitably unattired. He flexed his hands, reminding himself that, because of his gloves and many, many other reasons, he could not just wrap her in his arms as he had in his dream, nor even grab her waist as he had held her in the oak tree. _Tonight,_ he reminded himself. _I will get to be with her all night. I just have to endure until then._

The noise of the pickaxes stopped, and Bartrand's shouted instructions began to echo down the line of carts as hirelings returned to their positions. They both looked to the front of the group, Hawke leaning around Fenris as his head turned.

"Looks like we're about to be off, again," she sighed, letting her hand finally slip away. "Will you be all right back here, without me to keep your spirits up?" She gave him a small, teasing smile as she moved around him, preparing to return to the front.

"I am not made of glass, Hawke," he drolled, holding his arms out slightly as he turned to face her.

She walked sideways for a few steps, running her eyes along his nicely corded arms and following the winding paths of the lyrium markings that vined up them. Her gaze lingered on his solid shoulders and chest, before flicking up to meet his eyes. "No, indeed," she murmured with admiration, before reluctantly turning away with a mysterious smile.

Fenris took the opportunity to take a long drink from his waterskin as he watched her go, though it took him several tries to locate it in the back of Bodahn's wagon since his attention was elsewhere. _She is quite skilled at many things, and raising morale indeed seems to be one of them, _he observed as he tilted the waterskin just enough to take a drink without having to move his eyes. _I wonder if she really can juggle lit torches..._

As he watched, she passed Anders, stopping to have a few words with him and jostle his shoulder playfully before letting him go. The apostate had a broad smile on his face when she moved on, and his head turned to regard her departure too. His gaze lingered somewhat longer than Fenris found suitable._ I had almost forgotten about Anders,_ he thought as he lowered his waterskin and wiped his mouth. _So many things I cannot remember, yet here is someone I would relish the opportunity to forget._

By the time the expedition got back underway, most of Fenris's positive mood from Hawke's short chat with him had dissipated. Anders had wanted to linger at the blue, glowing lyrium vein, but the sight of it had discomfited Fenris, making his markings burn — he didn't know whether it was a phantom pain or some real reaction to raw lyrium, but he had not wanted to stay long enough to find out. Sandal had wanted to tarry at it, too, and Fenris was tempted to leave the slack-jawed pair of them behind to gawk, if that was what they wished. Only Bodahn's intervention finally got them to move on.

Fenris barely tolerated the rest of the day's journey. He tried to distract himself with the scents of the embrium and Hawke's handkerchief, and the thought of his evening respite with her, once camp was set for the night. _Tonight,_ he repeated doggedly to himself with each step, pointedly not actually thinking about what exactly that he was planning or expecting to happen when night arrived.

Though Hawke's brief scouting of the tunnel ahead had been accurate and no further ceiling stones blocked the path, about an hour down the path, they began to encounter collapsed side tunnels and a partially backfilled area near the first ancient dwarven waystation they reached.

"Sodding ancestors did everything they could to block off the damn darkspawn. Too bad it's blocking off our sodding riches!" Bartrand groused to their small group, after Hawke had gathered her companions together to get input on the situation.

"Maybe we should set camp?" Varric suggested hopefully. Anders nodded wearily. Fenris was far more pessimistic about that likelihood, and his assessment quickly proved true.

"Get serious or sod off, Varric!" Bartrand roared. "We've still got a few hours until the sun goes down topside. Lazy, good for nothing…" He turned to Hawke. "Think you can move some of the smaller boulders, so I can put the hirelings to work dragging the big ones out of the way?"

Hawke glanced at everyone before giving Bartrand a resigned sigh. "Let's try not to make a habit of it, but since I know it's important for us to have a productive first day… yes, I think we can manage it." She forced Bartrand to make her a begrudging promise, agreeing that once the tunnel widened into the main Deep Roads passage, the excavators would be doing most of the grunt work.

They all put their weapons aside then got to work shifting stones. Varric, who wasn't much use for helping them lift the larger ones, directed the work and kept them out of the hirelings' way while moving some of the smaller rocks himself. Hawke, Fenris, and Anders shifted stone after stone together, hefting the awkward chunks of rock as best they could, before all scuttling as one towards the nearest side passage to dump the small boulders out of the way.

"Hey, I think this one is the rear end of a dwarven statue," Varric noted once as he guided them around piles of slippery rubble. "You could be carrying the sculpted asscheek of one of my ancestors, for all I know. That's got to be a good sign!" For all his joking, however, the tedious, backbreaking work wore away at them, and it required a great deal of coordination and teamwork. Fenris and Anders seemed to cope well enough with the physical exertion, but cooperation proved to be another matter. Often.

"Lift your side, _mage_," Fenris growled, almost every single time they hefted another slab of stone.

"I _am_ lifting. I told you I should have been on the other end — Marian's side is too awkward for her to carry." Hawke made a tired groan of dissent, but kept her focus on slowly walking backwards. "I hate the blighted Deep Roads," Anders cursed softly.

They all heaved as one to toss the stones out of the path, usually towards Hawke, who was the quickest, smallest, and nimblest, and therefore could dash out of the way easiest. They all kept eying her nervously as they stepped back, though she never came close to being flattened.

"I wouldn't be much of a rogue if I couldn't evade a rock," she retorted when Anders protested that there had to be a safer way to proceed.

_He'd probably welcome it if she hurt herself,_ Fenris thought with suspicion, narrowing his eyes at Anders's back. _Running his hands all over her, checking for injuries, to 'heal' her. _He clenched his jaw. _She will not come to harm, not while she is under my protection._

Still, it grew exhausting, and with the sheer amount of heavy stones that littered the path, it proved just a matter of time before they all had a few scrapes, cuts, and bruises. Though no one complained, since they were all professionals, Hawke's observant eyes did not miss much when they sat down to take a much needed break.

"Ouch," she said with a hiss as she picked up Fenris's hand to examine his blood-encrusted ring finger. "Looks like you tore your nail rather deeply. I hate when that happens. It stings like the Void." Fenris nodded with a grimace as she prodded at it, knowing the slight injury would feel even worse when he put his close-fitting gloves back on, once their path forward was clear.

"Shall I have Anders heal it for you?" she asked, caressing his other fingers soothingly as she looked up into his face from where she sat cross-legged next to him. They were tucked against a clear section of the wall, near the outcropping of the waystation, well out of everyone's way while they rested. "I'm sure he'll be happy to, once he comes back from having some fruit."

"I will likely get more injuries before this task is finished," Fenris grumbled, though the feel of her touch did soothe the ache a little. "I would rather wait and have it all done with at once, if it is all the same to you." His grimace deepened, already dreading the feel of Anders's healing magic trickling over him. _It is not so bad when her sister does it, but I could swear I can feel some wrongness to Anders's magic. That spirit within him makes him an abomination, whether it is a demon or not, and regardless that he joined with it without the use of blood magic._

"Shall I kiss it to make it better until then?" she teased, seeing the deep consternation on his face. Fenris looked at her in surprise as she quickly placed a kiss on the pad of his ring finger. "There. That should hold you," she announced with a playful smile.

An electric thrill shot up Fenris's arm, seeming to follow the line of lyrium straight down his finger to his palm, then on up to his shoulder and spine. He shifted, drawing one outstretched leg up to prop his forearm upon, pulling his hand out of her grasp.

_I do not know what that was, _he thought, fidgeting and trying to decipher the already faded feeling of her kiss. _It was like the other night, when our legs tangled under the table. It was over too fast for me to be able to tell if it was pain or just… surprise. _It started him worrying about his as-yet unthought of intentions for the night. _Her lips were just as soft as they were yesterday when I brushed them with my thumb… _

Hawke chewed nervously at her lip, hiding her worry by rummaging through her belt pouch for her pair of small scissors, some bandages, and a vial of elfroot potion to dab on his wound. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to read the blank expression on his face as he stared into the distance.

_I hope that wasn't too forward of me, _she fretted, piling the supplies in her lap. _I just enjoy being able to finally touch him, even if it is just his hands. Maker, I'll really have to be more careful tonight in the tent. I'd rather not wind up bunking with Varric because Fenris feels he needs to evade my lips for the rest of the expedition._

She dabbed a little elfroot potion onto a square of bandage, proffering it and her small, sharp scissors to him wordlessly, indicating it was to cut free his torn fingernail and clean the blood away. Fenris took them from her after a slight hesitation, remaining silent as well. She looked away when he soundlessly began tending his wound, empathetically shuddering at the imagined pain of it.

_This probably does not even begin to compare with the pain he's felt before,_ she thought, heart clenching in her chest. _He's mentioned the lyrium being branded into his flesh. Not to imagine how poorly slaves must be treated in general in the Imperium. No wonder he barely seems to notice when he is injured, why he hardly ever makes a sound. The pain he must have suffered… _She swallowed hard as she allowed herself to think of the reasons for his aversion to being touched.

Fenris pressed the scissors into her limp hand, returning them after he finished seeing to his minor injury. _She does not look well, _he thought, noticing the distant, drawn expression on her face. _This day has taken its toll on her. She needs a solid night's rest. _As Anders and Varric returned from their brief break, he hastily decided that an early, quiet, and uneventful night with Hawke was the only practical option. _It is for her own good. She did wake up rather early, for her, after all._

Another hour's quiet labor saw the last of the path cleared, and it was fairly easy going from that point on. The waystation seemed to indicate that they had finally exited a branch the Deep Roads and entered the main passage, and the tunnel almost immediately opened up into a towering space, walls lined with reliefs, runes, statues, and lava channels.

The latter lit the space easily, though it was with a slightly unnatural, reddish-orange glow. The lava left the air a constant, comfortable temperature and drove away the moisture that had unpleasantly dampened long sections of the previous tunnel, but it caused the air to have a rather strong tang of sulfur, ozone, and trace metals to Fenris, who took a disliking to it immediately. It reminded him too much of Danarius's workroom, which made him feel very apprehensive.

The air was less stale and moldy otherwise, but it could just have been hard to tell with the new, competing scents. A very slight, constant breeze blew down the tunnel towards them, though no ducts or open shafts to the surface were visible anywhere. The breeze just barely stirred Fenris's hair, making his scalp crawl, and the dryness of the air current made his eyes, nose and tongue feel ever so slightly desiccated.

The stone road underfoot was smooth and even, at least, though that also meant that it was hard and unyielding — nothing at all like the springy, warm grass he had enjoyed walking in yesterday. Echos carried a good distance in the wide open space, only to be swallowed up in the faint dull roar that could have been the lava, the movement of the air, or muffled sounds of distant darkspawn and dwarven ghosts for all anyone knew.

All in all, Fenris found their new surroundings every bit as distracting and uncomfortable as the smaller tunnel, albeit in new or subtly altered ways.

_I have been worse places, _he tried to tell himself, taking a page from Hawke and attempting optimism. _There are no hunters down here. No blood magic. No one of any serious threat, not even Anders. He might not have been able to handle the Deep Roads as a Grey Warden, but I certainly can. I have endured far more hostile environments than this, with the summer monsoons in Seheron, or that winter I spent almost entirely outside, in the Green Dales. To say nothing of the daily discomforts of being a slave in Minrathous. _He set his jaw firmly, determined not to complain like Anders, to persist and prevail where the former Warden had failed and fled.

_Besides, Hawke is here. Now that we are in the main part of the Deep Roads, I will see more of her since there is no need to travel in a convoy. No one can get lost or left behind here, unless they intentionally seek out one of the side passages. _Indeed, Hawke was already waving Fenris and Anders forward.

"We will all be scouting ahead now, for as long as we are in the main passage," she announced, her tone professional. "It's just too wide and there are too many side passages for Varric and me to comfortably cover. We'll need all the eyes we can get." Everyone nodded in agreement.

She turned to Fenris. "I'm thinking you and me, out front. What do you say? Do you think you can handle taking the right, while still keeping an ear out for anything towards the rear?" Her eyes seemed to twinkle when she said it, as if she knew full well he was more than capable.

"Of course, Hawke." He inclined his head, feeling gratified that she both needed and wanted him for the task. _And she asks, rather than commands. Protecting her is nothing at all like serving Danarius ever was. This I want to do, I choose to do. It feels an honor to be a part of Hawke's plans._

She gave him a smile before turning to Varric and Anders. "I think you two, being ranged, would be better off behind us where you can attack both forward and back, if need be. Fenris and I can cover you should we run into anything headlong, and you can hold off a rear attack long enough for us to work our way behind."

"Whatever you say, Hawke. I'm right behind you," Varric agreed easily. Anders just nodded, rubbing at his temple as though his head hurt. Hawke gave the mage a concerned look but did not address it.

"Very well, then. Seems we have our plan of action. We should have only about an hour or so left until we set camp, but it will be good practice, and nice to have our merry little band of misfits all together again."

"Too bad the darkspawn don't have taverns," Varric mused. "They would have already cleared out after hearing the stories about you, Hawke." She laughed, shaking her head ruefully.

"They'll know we're here soon enough," Anders said quietly, eyes tight as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. Everyone turned to him and he looked up. "They're definitely out there. Wardens can… hear them. I can hear them. And they all can hear each other." His hand fidgeted on his staff. "Once we run into one, they will soon all know."

Hawke's brows drew down. She'd heard rumors about the Grey Wardens' strange darkspawn-fighting abilities in the King's Army, but she knew better than to believe everything she heard. Especially about the Wardens, since there were still old, superstitious tales circulating from when they had all been ejected from Ferelden, long years before King Maric had brought them back. "Can… you tell how many there are? How far away they are?"

Anders shook his head. "They are still distant. Maybe another day off? And it isn't nearly the numbers that I've encountered elsewhere down here. Still, we should be careful."

She nodded distractedly, then roused herself. "Of course. Well then, I'm glad to have all of you along. I know we can handle this. This can hardly be anywhere near as bad as Ostagar." She paused, then added quietly, "Or Lothering." Hawke eyes flicked to Fenris before she looked down, fidgeting and smoothing her gloved hands over her armor.

_Why am I worrying? Fenris is hardly as inexperienced with battle as John was. John was bigger than Fenris, and strong, but he was also just a farmhand with a scythe trying to defend his home. Whereas Fenris and I have faced far worse than darkspawn together and lived to tell the tale. The dragon at the Bone Pit, Arvaarad and his squad of qunari, the entire company of Winter mercenaries…_

Bartrand called for their march to continue, and she turned wordlessly to begin scouting. Fenris, Varric, and Anders all flowed into motion after her and took their positions, their reactive movements and activities showing the practiced ease of their little band. Though she'd never purposely taken both Fenris and Anders anywhere together, not since they had clashed that first night outside of Fenris's mansion after Danarius's escape, the efficiency of the group seemed hardly diminished — though the social atmosphere was perhaps a bit more tense.

_Anders fussed about him the very next morning,_ she remembered, _though Fenris didn't really say anything further about Anders until the day he met Bethany. Then there was the day Anders and Merrill invited themselves along to The Gallows with us. Maker, that was not a productive chat. And it has only gone downhill from there. _

She sighed heavily, angling left to scan the side passages as Fenris split off to the right. She spared a glance for his hands, but she could not see his now-healed finger with his gloves on. He had not put up a fight over the healing, but she'd seen the unhappy look on his face while he endured the brief wash of healing magic.

_I suppose I should not be surprised that Fenris and Anders don't get along, not with their diametrically opposing viewpoints on magic. Still, I hope he does not always make such a fuss over Anders healing him. I do not want anything to befall him. I may not be able to push him too fast when it comes to him and me, but I certainly intend to push to keep him alive and untainted._

Hawke set her jaw as she grimly scanned her half of the Deep Roads, ears straining for aberrant noises even as her mind worked and fretted. _The darkspawn took so many at Ostagar, then more in Lothering, stealing both John and Carver from me. And I watched the taint take Wesley from Aveline… I will not watch even more life ripped away because of darkspawn. _

A thought occurred to her and she snorted._ Wasn't it the magisters of the ancient Tevinter Imperium who caused all of this, the Blights, the darkspawn, the archdemons? And still they carry on meddling with unnatural forces to this day. It is no wonder Fenris hates them so, especially given… whatever was done to him. Still, what a coincidence that it was magisters who indirectly caused me to flee to Kirkwall, and a magister who wound up being responsible for Fenris fleeing there, too. And if not for magisters, neither of us would have any reason to be down here right now, for the Deep Roads would be bustling with dwarves rather than sealed away. _

She sighed. _Our entire lives are wrapped up in magic — mostly me defending it and Fenris fighting it. And yet we would never have met otherwise. But he also would not have been so abused. If I could go back and change things, would I? Would I deign to alter history, to move the whole world for love? And who's side would I choose? _

_Fenris? To make a world where mages everywhere were suppressed so he never would have had a master like Danarius to make him suffer, but where people like Father, Bethany, and Anders suffered even more? Or would I choose my love for Bethany, letting her live a free life, but in a world where abuses like those Fenris suffered in the Imperium would undoubtedly occur even outside Tevinter on occasion, despite the best intentions of the majority? _

Her philosophical, hypothetical thoughts made her keenly uncomfortable and disturbed, so she tried to shake them off. _It doesn't matter. The choice was never mine, and it never will be. Nor should it ever be — people should be free to choose for themselves. The real tragedy of Fenris's situation isn't magic, it's that he had no choice in the matter. Even if there was no magic, there would still be powerful people forcing others against their will._

_But it is of no consequence thinking such things. I'm just an adventurer. The only choice I have is how to live my life, and that I will do by striving to be happy and taking care of the people closest to me. Leave the heady topics to the Chantry or the Viscount. _

She pulled out her daggers, wanting something to do to keep her hands from feeling suddenly fidgety and useless. _Look to the present and the future. What's past is past, what's done is done. The past may be full of pain, but Fenris is a free man now, and he will remain so. Bethany is a free mage, and she will remain so. I love them both, and I can see to both of their happiness. _

Hawke flourished her daggers, spinning them simultaneously in her hands. _Varric is right. I am the hero of this little story. If I wish it, I can become rich, famous, and live happily ever after, for I am something much better than a princess… I am a rogue. Which means I can cheat and have it __all__. _She smiled slyly to herself.

Fenris glanced over at her from across the broad Deep Roads passage, lip quirking up wryly as he took in the sight of her looking so determined, dangerous, and beautiful. _In this eerie setting, she looks so fey again. Like that night I stalked her through the city. _The surreal sight of Hawke in the strange surroundings of the Deep Roads, the memory of his pursuit of her through Kirkwall many nights ago, and their chase yesterday, both real and imagined, all combined in his mind, stoking his expectations for the night ahead. A mingle of memories and fantasies stimulated him, arousing him again and making his blood surge through his veins.

_No, I must remember that she is undoubtedly tired, _he thought, trying to regain control by recalling the stricken, gray look on her face when they'd rested from shifting stones. He squeezed his hand shut in frustration, but the raw feeling of his newly healed fingertip made him keenly aware of the spot where she'd kissed him. His control slipped right through his grasp.

_But if she is not too tired… if she came to me… I do not know if I can keep turning her away, _he realized, jaw tightening at just the imagined pleasure of feeling her lips elsewhere on him and at the sensations he'd felt in his vivid dream just before dawn. The warmth of the Deep Roads seemed to fade to nothing compared with the heat that began to pool in his belly as he started to desire the tingly spark that ran through him whenever he and Hawke inadvertently touched.

Suddenly Leandra's voice echoed in his head. '_Half-elven would be just as precious to me.'_ Fenris almost tripped over his own two feet, coming to a sudden halt as he growled a swear under his breath. _Fasta vass, I had nearly forgotten… that. There is something else I would wish to forget, along with Anders._ He tried to pretend that he'd stopped to suspiciously eye a crack in the wall, though it was much too small for anything bigger than a corrupted dire rat to squeeze through.

_It… is probably good that I do not forget Leandra's warnings, however. I must be mindful and not get… carried away with Hawke. If we even could… with my markings… in a camp such as this, under such scrutiny. _He abashedly rubbed at his forehead, remembering the loud, unmistakable noises his dream Hawke had made for him.

_That would undoubtedly cause even more talk. Even if that complication could be dealt with, there could still be… other complications… many months from now. _The thought was utterly foreign to him. _I have never been good at thinking of the future, and __**that**__ prospect is even more unfathomable than most. _

Feeling very squirmy, he resumed walking, pace rather brisk, as if he could leave all his awkward thoughts behind if he just moved quickly enough.

"Everything all right, Fenris?" Hawke called, just loud enough for him to hear once he caught back up. He gave her a nod, not quite turning to meet her eyes. She considered him for a moment, then turned back to her scouting.

_He has been so quiet since I was silly enough to kiss his finger, _she sighed, turning her attention back to the left side of the tunnel. _I suppose it is just as well that I feel dog-tired after moving all those chunks of stone. Maybe it will keep me from tearing his silk shirt off and sending him fleeing into the Deep Roads. _Her eyes flicked over to him again, and she slowed, growing thoughtful. _Though at least then I'd get a proper look at his chest._

Fenris, walking a good deal faster than she now, moved well in front of her, and her eyes ran up and down his back. It was one of the few times that day she'd been behind him, and the first time with any decent lighting. Her gaze ran down the narrow, open seam that had been tailored along the spine of his tunic, undoubtedly for keeping him cool in the hot northern climates. Not for the first time, her mouth went dry as she imagined what the rest of his back looked like. _Tearing his shirt off might be worth it to get a look at his back, too. Maker, just look at him. _Hawke resignedly added his sturdy shoulders and lithe, strong back to her list of weakness for him.

Just as her eyes were considering his narrow waist and hips, they twisted as Fenris turned to regard her. "Everything all right, Hawke?" he asked, repeating the question she'd just asked him a few minutes earlier, since it was she who now lagged behind. She started, eyes snapping up from his rear to his face as she flushed.

"Looks good to me," she called cheerfully, pretending to have been considering the wall next to him as she swept her gaze up to the ceiling and back over to her side of the passage. She picked up her pace and doggedly spent the remainder of their day's march matching pace with him to avoid lagging behind and being distracted further.

But the damage had already been done to her ever-expanding list. _First it was his eyes. Then, yesterday, his eyebrows. To say nothing of his hands. Now today, it is his chest, shoulders, back, waist, hips, rear… and all in one day? Maker, this is going to be a very long expedition, and a very long list, unless I can figure out some way to keep my eyes shut all of the time…_

They trudged briskly together on opposite sides of the broad Deep Road, both struggling against the fatigue of the long day and fighting their desires, alternately longing for and nervously wondering about the night that was about to come.


	33. Interlude: Deep Feelings, Part 2

**A/N: **Part 2 of 2! Still the previous chapter, just broke it into 2 sections for ease of reading...

* * *

_1 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, continued. _

"But you said there would be troopers," Anders whined, scowling over at Varric's tent. "This is just as boring as being with the Wardens."

"Surprise!" Varric said sarcastically as he backed out of his newly erected tent. He sighed heavily as he got to his feet. "So I exaggerated a little, Blondie. A few of the hirelings did bring instruments, though. I'm sure once everyone gets settled in for the night, someone's bound to play something or other."

Anders snorted. "Some kind of homemade slide whistle and a hand drum hardly make for an evening's delightful entertainment."

Hawke chuckled as she busily secured her own tent's lashings to one of Bodahn's cartwheels. Fenris was inside, quietly holding the pole taut, since he was taller. "This one's secure, Fenris. I'm moving to the back now."

The tent jiggled slightly before it stilled as he let the pole go to settle into its natural position. She could just make out the barest hint of his shadow as he moved to the back of the tent. _Maker, he's still being so quiet. Maybe he finds this as awkward and nerve-wracking as I do, now that we are faced with actually sharing this tent. _She moved to the rear of Bodahn's cart, waiting for Fenris to raise the next tent pole fully before she fumbled with the rope.

"There appears to be… a hole," Fenris finally said, just as she was tying off the intricate slipknot that would hold their tent up all night but make it easy to dismantle it in the morning.

"Wha… oh!" Hawke turned her head as she crouched, only to look directly into one of Fenris's large, green eyes peering back at her through a round hole in the dark tent canvas. "Andraste's squealing knickerweasels, those ox drivers sold me a hole-y tent!"

"It looks rather like an ox _chewed_ through it," he ventured with a small measure of amusement in his voice, his eye rolling — possibly to examine the rippled edge of the hole — before blinking at her. Then she saw his hair and the pointed tip of one ear as he turned his head. "Now that I look more closely, there are a few other holes of a similar height. One of the oxen must have gotten hungry."

Hawke made an irritated groan. "No wonder I got such a 'deal' on it. They switched bundles on me while I was counting out the coin!"

"You should have expected this, Hawke," he teased, turning back to speak through the hole in the tent, gravelly voice carrying further since it was not blocked by the thick fabric. Hawke tried not to study his generous lips, which were the only part of him that she could see. "If there's one thing ox drivers are known for, it is bullshit. It comes with their work."

Hawke half laughed, half gasped. "_Fenris!_ Did you just use _unrefined_ language? And in _my_ tent?" She peered into a smaller hole nearby. It was too dark inside for her to see him, however, and all she heard was his soft chuckle, made even softer by the muffling of the canvas. She threatened him regardless. "You're going to help me sew these up, just for that."

His chuckle turned into a full laugh, and Hawke found herself turning her ear to the rent in the fabric just so she could take in the pleasant rumble of it, so rarely did he let himself actually laugh. _Swindle or no swindle, the price of the tent was worth it just to hear him amused for a spell, _she decided, smiling fondly.

"Hmmm… We still need to secure the other side of the tent, Hawke," he chided directly into her ear, the devastating smoothness of his deep voice, his fetching Tevinter accent, and the warmth of his breath on her ear all distracting her and making her flesh break out in goosebumps.

_I suppose I should add his voice to my list, _she thought with a shiver._ I definitely have a weakness for it. I could listen to him all day… and all night. _

"I'll uh… just go around to the other side, then," she replied, taking care not to fall over as she got to her feet.

It didn't take long to secure the far side of the tent now that one side was already up, and Fenris seemed to be as cooperative with tents as Anders was not. Hawke had already put Anders's tent up for him, after the mage had bungled erecting it solo even more badly than his uncooperative attempt yesterday with Varric.

Hawke sighed as she regarded the three holes visible to her in her own tent's wall from where she sat, tying the last rope around the wheel of one of the other expedition carts.

"Do not worry," Fenris said from inside the tent when he heard her sighing. "We will be able to patch them easily." Hawke smiled at his reassuring tone, hurrying to finish the final knot. She brushed her hands off as she stood, grabbing their bedrolls out of the back of the cart and stacking them near their packs, out front of the tent.

Fenris pushed the tent flaps open and crouched to go through his pack just as she dropped their bedrolls. She noticed how he glanced at them while he dug through his travel sack. _Yes, he looks a little nervous, even for all his joking, and for this being his surprising suggestion._

Hawke crouched to go through her pack, too, groaning a little as she lowered herself. "Maker, I cannot wait to wash up, put on something more comfortable, and just relax. It has been quite a long first day."

Removing his hand from his bag to take off both vambraces before thrusting his arm back in deeper, Fenris nodded tiredly. "Hmmm, I quite agree." He rummaged quietly for another long moment, brow creasing in frustration, though his eyes soon shifted to her. "But the tent should probably be mended first. I cannot trust you not to spy on me."

Both of them drew out identical sewing kits at the same time. Hawke laughed, thrusting her chin at his hand to indicate the gift she'd included in his housewarming basket. "That looks familiar. Someone very thoughtful must have given it to you." Fenris gave her a small smile that made her feel as though a shaft of sunlight had pierced the earth to shine into the Deep Roads to warm just her.

"Shall we get to stitching then?" she asked. "Can I trust _you_ not to leave yourself a peephole?" She pursed her lips wryly.

His smile deepened into a rather devious one, one she recognized from their night of playing cards. "I could ask you the same. Perhaps a wager would keep things honest?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What sort of wager?" She returned his smile with one of her own, knowing it was a little sultry, but she found it difficult not to respond to his flirtatious mood. _What has gotten into him all of a sudden? Hmm, he is probably just grateful to have a chance to rest. Today was hard on him and he is probably just winding down. I will have to take extra care not to let myself get carried away._

Fenris stood, leaning down to take her hand and help her up. She grunted a little as she straightened, knuckling at a knot in her lower back. _Sodding boulders. Wait… By the Ancestors, I'm starting to sound like Bartrand in my own head. _Sighing heavily, she ducked under Fenris's arm as he held open the flap so she could enter the tent.

"Whoever sews up the most holes the fastest gets to wash and change first, perhaps?" he suggested as he folded the other flap open, allowing light into the darkened tent. Fenris was careful to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to spoil the advantage he suspected he had over Hawke when it came to mending things.

She removed a needle from her sewing kit, pressing it between her lips as she pulled out some thread and her small pair of scissors. _Six… seven… eight holes, four on each side? Well, at least the ox that nibbled on it was consistent. The holes seem to be about the same sizes on both sides as well. _

Hawke nodded in agreement. "Very well, that seems fair enough. There are an even number on each side, so it will probably come down to speed. Just try not to mangle your side in your haste, please. Men are such terrible menders, Father was forever going about with lopsided buttons until Bethany started to sew…"

Fenris just gave her a mysterious smile. "You worry about your own handiwork, Hawke. Let me concern myself with mine." The competitive flame inside him blazed, and he discreetly limbered up his fingers for the task ahead. _She has no idea how fast I will finish with this easy patch job._

"Careful, Fenris," she warned, lifting one eyebrow sardonically. "Pride is a sin in the eyes of the Maker."

He already had a needle threaded and was tearing free the length of thread from the spool with his teeth. "Bah," he spat as he pulled the end of the thread from his mouth. "The Maker barely seems to pay attention to what happens on the surface. What makes you think he'd be watching down here?"

Hawke's eyebrow crept up even further at his words, but Fenris was too busy to notice, kneeling at the back of the tent preparing to start their stitching race._ I suppose I am the last person to judge another's religious convictions, _she thought,_ as I do not much care for Chantry dogma myself. And I don't really disagree with him either, but still, that was a little… surprising. _

"I'll start on this side," she replied, letting the matter drop. "On the count of three?"

Fenris nodded, already pinching the fabric between his long, elegant fingers and not taking his eyes off the canvas in front of him. Together, they counted to three, then set to sewing shut their first tears in a quiet frenzy.

"Damn," Hawke muttered, trying to work the tail end of her thread under the first few stitches and failing. They pulled straight out and she had to start again. "Have I mentioned that I miss Bethany?"

Working with swift efficiency, Fenris tugged at the patched hole before securing the thread and leaning in to nip at it with his teeth. "One," he announced, shifting over to the second hole, the large one he'd first noticed.

Hawke glanced, then stared over her shoulder, doing a double take. "What?" she asked, sounding a little shocked. Fenris would have chuckled, but he was too focused on pulling another length of thread free from his spool. Frowning, she set back to finishing her first hole, redoubling her efforts while trying not to make a mess of the stitching.

"One," she finally called, scowling at the pucker of fabric near the far end of the hole. It was a serviceable enough job, but it wasn't very pretty. Still, she scooted over to the next nibbled bit of cloth, sparing a glance for Fenris's progress. She swore under her breath when she saw he was halfway done with his second hole. _What can't his fingers do? _she wondered as she stabbed her needle into action.

"Two…" said Fenris as the plink of him snapping the thread free sounded. Hawke made a soft huff of frustration, which made him smile._ Perhaps I will make her declare me the victor again, _he mused._ I find I rather like hearing that._ He slid over to the third gap, pleased to discover was a rather small one.

"I am almost finished Hawke…" he warned. "If you wish, you can just fetch me a bucket of hot water now, and I will take care of the rest."

She snorted at his taunts, more than familiar with his many competitive tactics after their long night of playing Wicked Grace together at his mansion. "_Two_," was the only terse response she offered.

"Three," he replied simply, pulling himself across the smooth stone floor to the hole nearest the open tent entrance.

Hawke shook her head, still trying to thread her needle for her third patch job. "I don't know how you're doing it, Fenris, but you've got to be cheating. This was a setup."

"Just one of my many learned skills, Hawke," he said easily, already swaggering his shoulders a little where he sat and sounding quite cocky as he neatly stitched up his final hole.

She chewed on her lip as she tried to sew up her second to last hole as quickly as possible, hopeful that she still had a chance, since it was quite small. Her hope faded as she heard the snap of thread, then came back to life as she heard Fenris curse softly in Arcanum. "Thread break?" she asked as a smile spread across her face, not taking her eyes off her work lest she lose her small advantage.

"Fasta vass… _yes_." Fenris thought briefly about tying the broken ends of thread together, but found the idea unconscionable for some reason. Sighing, he tugged the thread free and started anew.

"Three!" Hawke announced, clambering over to her final hole. She almost dropped her needle, barely managing to hang onto it in her haste. She worked tensely, wanting to check on Fenris's progress but unwilling to concede victory to her curiosity.

Despite her best efforts however, she soon heard the pointed snap of thread and the low rumble of his satisfied sigh from the opposite corner of the tent. "Say it…" said Fenris, the deep smile plain in the tone of his voice.

"Say what?" she grumbled, refusing to give up, in case it was just one of his ploys. But she heard the sound of him packing up his sewing kit, then the sound of him tucking it back into his travel sack.

"You _know_."

"I'm sure I don't, Fenris," she said airily, finally finishing her stitching and working the needle back underneath to secure the thread. The tent grew very quiet, the thick canvas absorbing her words as quickly as she spoke them since she sat in the far corner.

Suddenly Fenris's voice was in her ear again, and his clean, grassy scent, intensified by his closeness and the closeness of the tent, wafted to her nose. "Who is the victor…?" he prompted in a sensuously teasing low timbre.

She shivered, then cringed violently as she jabbed her thumb deep with the needle. "OWW! Burn it all and Andraste, too!" she cried, snapping her hand back and shaking it vigorously. Her elbow slammed into Fenris, right on the peak of his metal chestplate, sending a blaze of pain shooting through her arm as well. "Son of a…!" Her curse cut off with a pained groan as she clutched her arm to her chest.

Stunned, Fenris apologized quickly. "Hawke, I… I'm sorry." He teetered a little from her impact where he still knelt beside her, one hand steadying himself against the floor.

Her eyes began to swim with a few pained tears as she looked down at the thick bead of blood that had already welled on her thumb. All she could do was shake her head mutely, gritting her teeth against the competing throbs of pain from the pad of her thumb and whacking her funny bone. _Nothing... funny... about it..._ she decided.

"Shall I get Anders?" he asked seriously. She shook her head again, still silent. "Some elfroot potion, then? Is it still in your belt?" She nodded, thinking it best to clean off her thumb before deciding whether her injury was worth actually bothering Anders over. She knew there wasn't much to be done for the deep, pounding ache of the nerve running along her arm, except to wait for it to fade.

With one hand, Fenris reached around her waist to open the pouch on the far side of her belt where she always kept her vials, blindly questing for a moment before feeling the bandages and elfroot on top still from when she'd tended to his own finger, earlier. With his other hand, he picked up her scissors where they lay on the floor next to her knee. He reluctantly pulled back from her once he had the supplies, desiring her closeness but wanting to alleviate her pain.

He quickly snipped a small square of bandage loose before daubing it with the dark elfroot serum. Then, he leaned in again and took her gently by the wrist, wrapping the bandage around her thumb himself.

"Oo oo oo…" she wailed softly, wincing, though his hands were cool and soothing on her hot, throbbing thumb. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, trying not to whine as Fenris put firm pressure on the wound. Still, she couldn't help but suck air through her teeth when he finally wiped the blood away.

He peered at her injury. "You may not live past the night, I'm afraid. Not with a wound like this." She chuckled weakly at his joke, then cringed again as the movement of laughing set her elbow and arm throbbing harder.

"You must have hit your elbow quite soundly," he said with concern as he sat the bandage aside, his thumb beginning to caress hers, though he avoided her tiny stab wound. "I felt it in my chest. You nearly knocked me over." He knew from experience that he was a difficult opponent to throw — Danarius had had him trained long and hard to become a formidable opponent.

_She looks as though she is in considerable pain. _He frowned down at his hard, metal chestplate, suddenly noticing the embrium still hidden away there. It put him in mind of how she had painlessly swept the flower across his lips. As he rubbed her thumb, he also thought of how she had playfully kissed his finger. _Perhaps I can try to make it up to her with a small gesture? I can always pull away if it is uncomfortable for either of us…_

"It hurts like seven hells," she muttered after taking a few shallow breaths. Her voice hitched as the severe ache in her arm pounded deep into the pit of it, making even her ribs catch. "You are entirely too solid, Fenris."

Keeping a tight rein on his nervousness, Fenris chuckled, drawing her thumb up to his lips as he smiled crookedly at her. "If I had known you were going to attack me, I would have used my markings to spare you the pain of battering yourself against me." She blinked as he softly placed a kiss on the back of her thumb, just above the knuckle. "But does that help your finger at least?"

"You… you can do _that_?" she asked in a breathless whisper. Neither of them were sure if she meant his lyrium talent or his kiss.

A relieved puff of Fenris's breath softly brushed against Hawke's thumb as he chuckled again, though she could barely hear his laugh. "We could try it again, if you wish, Hawke. One would think you'd be less eager for another wound, however."

She nodded her head, too stunned by his tender ministrations and the lingering feel of his soft lips to say anything or even smile. Still, she had enough presence of mind to lift her elbow slightly, offering it to him as well. _He… his lips… so soft…_

_The feel of her skin against my lips is even better than in my dreams, _Fenris thought heatedly as he leaned in without reservation to kiss her bruised arm. _It is even softer than the petals of the embrium orchid she brushed against my face, yesterday. _He continued rubbing his thumb along hers as he lifted her wrist, bringing her elbow up to his mouth. His other hand cradled her upper arm, gently massaging just above her elbow to alleviate any swelling that might be pressing further on her tender nerve.

He slowly and deliberately brushed his lips against the bend of her arm, closing his eyes to better memorize the moment. The smell of her soap was faint after the long, hard day of traveling the Deep Roads, but as his kiss warmed her skin, it was gently released into the air like flower opening under his touch.

_The whole tent will smell like her soon, _he thought as he pulled back reluctantly._ I will relish every minute I spend in here, I think. _He lifted his eyes to hers as he opened them, feeling gratified when he saw the decidedly not pained expression on her face. _So hesitant and bashful when we are alone. She is never like this around the others. I am fortunate to experience every facet of her, for she is an incredible woman. _That put him in mind of other facets of her that he wanted to see and experience, and he found himself growing hesitant, too.

"Better? Or should I make you drink a barrel or three of elfroot tea?" he quietly teased, the lingering remembrance of Leandra's warnings motivating him to keep the mood from turning any more serious. He rubbed her arm in a less sensuous and more brisk massage.

_This can be enough. For now. It is more than I have ever had with anyone._ Hadriana's face flashed in his mind, but the careful control Fenris kept over his expression saved him from alerting Hawke to his distress. _It is more than I have ever **wanted** to have with anyone, _he amended, firmly putting Hadriana's forceful advances and demands out of his mind. He let Hawke's arm go, however, no longer trusting himself to be suitably gentle with her.

Hawke chuckled, cradling her arm to her chest again as Fenris released her. "You're just bitter because my tea actually worked for your headache, in spite of your _vast _reluctance to drink it after lunch."

Fenris sighed, eyes flicking up in a suffering expression before he admitted, "Perhaps." Then he leaned over her lap, quickly finishing her stitching and securing the thread before putting her sewing kit away for her.

"I suppose this means you get to wash first," she observed as he worked, clutching her own wrist to keep from reaching across the short distance to caress his ear, trail a hand down his exposed arms, or turn his face towards her to experience the fullness of his kiss. _Let him come to you, Marian. Do not rush this. Besides, I'm rather grimy from the long day's work. I'm hardly very kissable._

"You may go first, Hawke," he sighed tiredly. "I find I cannot enjoy my victory, since it came at such a high price."

_So polite_, she mused, not for the first time, as she watched his strong, elegant, lyrium-lined hands wind up the spool of thread and tuck the needle back into her kit. _The first words he ever spoke to me were 'I apologize,' if I recall. He was terribly courteous, especially given the circumstances. After everything he's been through, after everything that's been done to him, after what he's witnessed? He is truly the most remarkable man I think I've ever met. I find I would dearly love to know the answers to all his mysteries._

"Why are you are always so polite, Fenris?" she asked, giving him a confused smile.

He shrugged nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on his hands. "I have seen how little regard the magisters have for anyone but themselves. I would hardly be better than they if I acted the same. How you treat others is a choice, and I choose not to be like the magisters, if it can be helped."

Hawke's smile turned fond, though his face was still lowered and he likely could not see it. "Well, I've always liked that about you. It's such a refreshing change from most other people."

Fenris was glad of the dim light in the tent, for it hid the slight flush he could feel on his cheeks as he looked aside, unable to regard her fully. "I am… not most other people, in many ways," he observed dryly, a little bitterness creeping into his tone.

_If I was a man instead of a living weapon, you would not be hurt. If not for what Danarius has done to me, I would be able to remember why it is I know how to mend things so well. If not for Hadriana, I would not have memories of being so near another woman to disturb my thoughts of you. And if not for these markings, we certainly would not be sitting here, talking, with the tent flaps open… _His hands stilled in his lap, still clutching her sewing kit.

_No, these markings are more than just a stain on my flesh that set me apart from all others. They are also a stain on my very soul. No amount of my efforts to be polite will ever make me normal._

Hawke stretched out her uninjured arm and lay her hand on top of his, running her thumb along his markings. "You are a remarkable man, Fenris, and unlike anyone I have ever met. I don't think I would change anything about you." He stiffened, gritting his teeth as he looked further away. She thought she even heard him growl softly, but she squeezed his hand rather than pull away.

_You have suffered, but it's made you into the man I love. Despite everything, you are a wonderful person._ "I would see you happier, though," she added quietly.

His eyes closed and he looked down again, shoulders slumping a little. "So would I…" he sighed. Hawke's hand released his to reach up and push his hair back, and he struggled not to lean into her. _Her other arm must still hurt. We both need to wash and change. The tent flaps are open, and I can hear Varric and Anders directly across from us. I must control myself. We have all night to… do I do not know what._

"You go first, Fenris," she said, reluctantly pulling her hand away from his hair and getting to her feet. "I need to recuperate from my injuries. And nurse my wounded pride, too." Hawke crouched to inspect his handiwork on the other side of the tent, giving him a sly smile. "Besides, you _are_ the victor." He straightened a little at that, giving her a rather self-assured, pleased half smile that made her laugh. _He so enjoys hearing that…._

She turned back to peer at one of the sewn up holes, finding herself impressed with the even, neat stitching he'd done."You… certainly know your way around a needle and thread." _Yet another Fenris mystery. He was a slave… perhaps Danarius forced him to mend things? But I should not ask, I have already made him a little sore, brushing too close to that topic. _She flexed her hand, grimacing at the sore, half numb, half aching feeling that still coursed down her arm.

As she stood, she glanced at Fenris hoping he would offer an explanation on his own, but he remained silent. "Take your time," she finally said. "Maybe I will have a little elfroot tea after all. Anders is far too exhausted for me to bother him with this just now, it can wait until morning." She turned at the tent entrance and gave Fenris a private smile as he stood, too. "If I even need healing at all. I feel much better, having been so well tended to."

To her surprise, he glanced away, scratching behind his ear and looking a little sheepish as he shrugged. "It was nothing, Hawke. I will come get you when I am finished. I should not be long."

_I will have to be careful_, Fenris thought nervously._ She seems to have enjoyed that as much as I did. Leandra would not be pleased. Or maybe she __**would**__. _He remembered her words, mouth going dry. _'Andraste knows, I would even welcome grandchildren…'_

_I must be coming on too strongly,_ Hawke thought._ Still, it is nice to see him a little flustered for once. _

She reached over and pulled both tent flaps free from where they were folded open, arm already feeling better. "Don't worry, Fenris. There is no need for you to rush, I'll be sitting with Varric and Anders. Your modesty will remain in tact… for tonight." She caught just the faintest hint of pink tinging his sun-tanned cheeks before the cloth fell closed.

Leaving him to blush for a change, Hawke did as she promised, brewing a little elfroot tea for herself in her stolen tumbler before sitting down on the empty bench across from Varric's firepit and facing her tent.

"Just wondering if the feathered pauldrons are an essential part of the moody rebel mage persona," Varric was saying as she sat down, pointing a rather nubby pencil to gesture at Anders's shoulders. They sat across the campfire from one another, their tents behind their benches.

Anders looked down, first at one shoulder, then the other before shrugging. "What are you talking about?"

Varric shrugged too, waggling the notebook he held in his other hand a little. "I'm working on an epic poem about a hopelessly romantic apostate waging an epic struggle against forces he can't possibly defeat," he explained.

Hawke blinked a little at the complexity of the explanation, then looked past her pair of companions as she noticed Fenris exit the tent without his armored pieces on. _He must be going to retrieve his bucket of wash water. Maker, but that tunic is even more fetching on him without his chestplate and pauldrons in the way. And his arms… _Her eyes followed him closely as crossed the camp, heading to Bodahn's mess tent, where the dwarven merchant was heating water for anyone who wanted it, on his portable cookstove.

Anders's face crinkled with consternation. "What do you mean, 'can't possibly defeat?'"

"Well, it's not a good story unless the hero dies," Varric retorted.

Hawke's eyes reluctantly left Fenris's backside and turned to the dwarf. "Wait, you told me that in the best stories, the hero can't die?"

Varric sighed, setting back to writing his poem. "It's, uh, different between genres, Hawke. It's too complicated for me to explain."

Anders and Hawke both eyed him suspiciously for a few moments but gave up when it became apparent that Varric was deep in concentration. "What rhymes with 'sad infatuation'? Hmm.. perhaps, 'fled to an even more hostile nation'…?" he muttered.

"So. Marian," Anders said, rather loudly, turning to Hawke. "How was your day up at the front?" Hawke started to open her mouth to tell him, but he continued speaking. "I had the most _wonderful_ time at the back with your broody friend, there!" He inclined his head to Fenris, who was already slipping back into the tent with a steaming pail of water, nudging his pack along in front of him with one foot.

Hawke's mouth and eyes went a little flat as she absorbed Anders's sarcastic, bitter tone. "You needn't be bosom pals for life, Anders, you just need to work together. Did he say something to you today while you two were on rearguard?"

"He barely spoke to me at all," Anders scoffed. "I tried making polite conversation, but he seems determined to remain aloof. Though I suppose I should be grateful that he deigned to leave my innards intact…"

"You can hardly complain about him remaining silent, Anders," she retorted rather defensively. "Better that than for you two to argue, as you invariably do."

Anders scowled. "I just hate when people ignore me. It usually means they assume I'm some cowed Circle mage, out for a brief excursion due to good behavior, at the magnanimous forbearance of the Templars. Besides, I am a person and I have a right to be heard, same as anyone else."

Hawke's eyebrows drew together in exasperation, but she took a long sip of tea to avoid starting a quarrel with him. _This expedition will be long enough with Fenris and Anders not mixing well together. The last thing I need is to get into the middle of this and get one or both of them angry at me as well._

She sighed as she lowered her cup. "Just let it go, Anders. It might just be because the atmosphere down here is bothering him. At least you both have that much in common."

Anders sighed too, head bowing as he slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Maker, I hate the blighted Deep Roads. If only Ser Pounce-a-lot were here, it would be at least be a little more bearable…"

"Hey," Varric piped up. "Which is a better rhyme for 'he met his elven antithesis'… 'Spent his nights dreaming of her sleepless' or 'found his words of adoration rendered speechless'?"

Hawke's head tilted so far to one side in a look of utter confusion that she nearly overbalanced right off the end of her bench. "_What_ exactly did you say you were writing, again, Varric?"

"I _will_ turn you into a toad," Anders threatened, bent head snapping up to glare at the dwarf. "You know that, Varric."

Their eyes both swiveled to Hawke before looking back at one another. Anders seemed to be staring hard, piercing bolts into Varric until the dwarf made a demurring motion with his hand after a few moments.

"You're right. Best to keep it to myself until it's ready to be unveiled. Forget I said anything."

Their heads both half turned then to look at Hawke's tent, before their gazes pointedly went everywhere but the canvas shelter she planned to share with Fenris. Anders's head tilted up to the cavern ceiling as he muttered something fervently under his breath, making him look almost as if he was offering up a prayer. Varric mouthed his verses silently to himself, looking back to his small notebook.

_I seem to be missing something here, _Hawke thought suspiciously, narrowing her eyes and righting her head before drinking more tea, _but I am far too tired and sore to twist my brain into thinking what these two are on about, just now. _She drained her tea instead, and, thinking to make the most out of her brief separation from Fenris, she went for her pack.

Quietly digging through her travel sack, Hawke very resolutely bent to the task of pinching out her moon herbs into her tumbler, commanding herself not to peek through the tent flaps with every splash of water she heard from within. She focused her mind solely on the job of counting out the pinches, rather than on imagining what interesting sights lay just on the other side of the thick canvas of the tent walls.

_I promised not to spy on him. And with the rather prodigious length of my list, I hardly need add more things to it, tonight. Besides, I should leave myself __**something**__ to look forward to. We will be down here for weeks, sharing this tent… and Fenris has been rather… inviting so far._

"I _can_ hear you, you know." The dripping and splashing of water did not stop as Fenris spoke, which made Hawke blush even deeper for some reason.

"Just… getting something from my pack, Fenris. I would not go back on my word. Take your time, I'm already... retreating." Tucking her herbs back down into the bottom of her pack, Hawke took care to make her footsteps heard as she walked back to the fire.

Anders gave her steaming mug a sidelong glance when she sat back down on her bench after pouring out another measure of hot water, but he said nothing. Varric was still alternately scribbling and mouthing poetic verses to himself, so Hawke remained silent too. The slight smells of onions, carrots and potatoes from the mess tent started tickling their noses as they sat in quiet companionship around their small, stone firepit.

Hawke was busily squinting at the ceiling, trying to figure out how the smoke from their fire was being drawn up and away in the closed off cavern, when a flash of light caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

_What was that? It looked more blue and not at all like a fire. _It was gone as soon as she noticed it, and neither Varric or Anders seem to have seen it. She was the only one sitting facing the tent, and her brow crinkled when she realized it had come from that direction.

_Fenris's lyrium markings glow that color, _she realized, coming to her feet. Crossing the distance to the tent with quick steps, she asked with quiet concern, "Fenris? Is everything all right?" _I have only ever seen him use his lyrium talent when he is in battle. _She paused. _Or when he opened the bottle of Agreggio for me… Perhaps I have driven him to drink? _Even though the thought seemed amusing on the surface, she still found herself deeply worried about him.

Fenris took a few deep breaths, still recovering from his furtive activities and trying to control the sudden flare of emotion that had inadvertently lighted his lyrium markings. He'd been so overwhelmed by the intensity of his memories and fantasies that he had briefly but utterly lost all mental control when his natural response had surged to claim him.

_Yet another barrier to overcome, _he thought wearily as he cinched his towel back around his waist, just in case Hawke barged in to check on him. "It… it was nothing, Hawke. It just… happens, sometimes," he explained, hoping she would take the languid gruffness in his voice for the fatigue of the day. He looked down at himself, eyes tracing the familiar, now-unlit threads of lyrium that wound along his body.

_I will have to work on that. It would not do to accidentally phase through her in the middle of…_ He paused, wondering what it might feel like to her, to have him pass through her but not allow himself to unphase. He had never hesitated to let himself solidify in any of his enemies, and none had ever lived to tell him what it had felt like prior. And Fenris had never again seen the slaves that Danarius had forced him to practice passing through on shortly after the ritual. _Not that my memories of that time are fully intact... Probably for the best._

Hawke chewed on her lip, brow furrowed as she heard the reluctance in his voice. _It happens sometimes? Maker, what have they done to him? _"I… I see. Well, if there is anything I can do… to help, or…" Her words trailed off as she felt increasingly useless, standing outside the tent with her hands curled into tense, impotent fists that could do little to fight off the past that still clearly haunted him. She heard his tired sigh as she blinked glumly down at her boots.

"Just go wait by the fire, Hawke. I will be out soon. Do not concern yourself overmuch about it, I am fine. Just a little… tired." _More than fine, but not as satisfied by half as I would like to be… Nor tired for the reasons I would wish, _he thought, biting back a soft groan of dismay and pleasure as his body doggedly tried to prove it still had more than enough energy and enthusiasm left to make another attempt.

_She will be the death of me… but I am glad for this spacious tent, _he decided as instead he dried himself off and reached for his clean change of clothes. _There would be no creeping off into the woods before dawn down here, and I suspect I will need daily… practice. But it will make for perfection, if… once… well. And she deserves no less._

"As you wish, Fenris," she replied after a reluctant moment, going back to her bench yet again to wait. Fenris emerged some minutes later carrying his wash bucket, a wrung out tunic slung over his forearm. Hawke was a little disappointed to see that he was wearing his other tunic instead of his flattering silk shirt. Still, she couldn't help but slip her eyes along the tantalizing gap along the back of it as he stooped to chuck out his wash water into a far, abandoned corner of the cavern.

She smiled at him when he turned back to approach their little camp circle, but Fenris did not meet her eyes, keeping his gaze instead on the ground just in front of where he walked. Still, he came directly over to her and lay out his tunic on the bench next to her, arranging it so it could dry by their fire.

"I will bring you a bucket of hot water, Hawke," he said gently as he bent to his task, thinking of her arm. "If you wish, you can take your pack into the tent while you wait."

Her smile deepened at his solicitousness. "That's very sweet of you, Fenris, thank you. The mighty victor is too generous to the poor runner-up."

His head turned just enough that she could see the amused glimmer in his eye. She could also barely make out the teasing way the corner of his mouth lifted up, from the way his eyes creased at the corner and his cheeks slightly plumped. "I just don't want you sloshing water all over the tent," he teased. "I've seen how poor your bucket-carrying skills are. So, I can only imagine with your arm injury…"

She grinned, leaning towards him and chucking, and also taking in the clean, familiar smell of his soap and the faintly grassy smell that still clung to his clothes. It suppressed the strange, otherworldly odors of the Deep Roads, seeming to transport her back to the countryside outside of Kirkwall, where they had enjoyed such companionable, tender privacy just a day ago. _It seems like another lifetime after this long day, but I will never forget a minute of it, journal or no, _she thought.

"Here I thought you were being polite, but I see you are just worried about having to sleep in a puddle," she retorted softly, directly into his ear. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction when he shuddered a little before hastily straightening. _Either Bodahn's passing out very hot buckets of water, or I'm getting better at making Fenris blush… which is only fair. No one flusters me quite like he does._

"See to your pack, woman," he muttered as he turned with the empty bucket. The hoarseness in his voice seemed to make her laugh even more than his familiar, jesting way of addressing her.

"Very well," she chuckled, watching him go and ignoring the way both Anders and Varric were very specifically not looking at her. She went over her tent and dragged her pack inside, leaving the tent flaps open so Fenris wouldn't feel nervous or closed in when he returned with her wash water. Her shoulders sagged and her head lolled a little as soon as she entered the cozy, dim tent.

_Ahhh, it smells so familiar in here — if not for the view out the front of the tent, I'd never remember that I was in the Deep Roads. It smells like my old soap, though I've come to link the smell more with Fenris since buying the same kind for him to use, too. It smells so much better on him than it ever did on me. For being so plain, he makes it smell spicier, more exotic, yet subtle and natural. _

She took a deep, relaxing breath. _Yes, it smells just like him in here. A hint of leather, soap, and fresh rain-soaked grass. Much better than the rotten eggy, lava and grit smell of the Deep Roads, by far. _Reluctantly, Hawke turned her attention to digging through her pack. She retrieved out her cake of Orlesian soap, carefully unwrapping it from her washcloth and setting it aside before pulling out her towel.

Distracted again already, she lifted the towel up to her nose, taking a deep whiff of Fenris's scent on it, as it was the towel she'd thrown to him when he'd fallen into the creek that morning. _Maker, I suppose I must add even the smell of him to my ludicrously long list. Perhaps it would be easier to keep a list of things I __**don't**__ like about him…__  
_

"Still fully dressed, Hawke? Do you need assistance removing your armor?" Fenris asked with mock solicitousness as he entered with a steaming bucket of water. Hawke jumped, clutching her towel to her chest as though she'd just been caught nuzzling Fenris's silk shirt, or something equally personal.

_What am I so nervous about? It's my sodding towel… _she thought._ Damn it all, Bartrand! As if I needed more coarse language to round out my repertoire! Get out of my head! _

"I didn't want to scandalize the whole camp simply by removing my boots," she said airily. "A woman like me has to be careful. I wouldn't want to send the wrong sort of message and have to break a few fingers." Fenris carefully carried the heavy bucket past her, movements so graceful and smooth that the water barely rippled when he set it down.

"And yet you have not tried to break my fingers," he observed as he kept his eyes down while he lowered the wash water to the floor.

Hawke's mouth felt dry as she watched all his lithe muscles flex with the effort of his controlled motions. It was only exaggerated by the fact that he wore none of his other usual attire, no armored pieces, no belt, not even his gaiters — just his tunic and leggings.

Fenris let the comment hang quietly and, before he even straightened or turned to face her again, she felt the heavy air of expectation fill her lungs, compelling her to make some kind of explanation. _Because I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone. Because I have better uses for your curiously skilled, long fingers. Because I would never dream of hurting you, except in the most pleasurable ways. By all means, pull the tent flaps closed and find out just how scandalous I can be, Fenris…_

"I nearly broke my arm on your chest. I am not foolish enough to confront you head on," she said instead, repeating her new mantra in her mind. _Let him come to you. Do not rush this. Take your time._

He brushed past her quietly, not meeting her gaze as he ducked his way out of the front of the tent. His head turned just enough to address her, strong elven profile, wry smile, and one piercing, moss green eye visible to her as he paused in the act of pulling closed the tent flaps. "If you wish to spar once we get back to Kirkwall, Hawke, you will have to work up the nerve to take me on eventually. I know I am formidable, but I will do my best not to hurt you." One flap swung closed. "Well, no more than can be helped. I am quite skilled, after all, but… you might just find you enjoy it."

Fenris chuckled to himself as he walked away to take Hawke's former seat, for he heard how the swish of the tent flap was amplified by the thud of her towel dropping to her feet. _She must be more tired than she looks, if that rattled her enough to make her lose her normally dexterous grip. _

He perched on the empty bench that faced their tent, nodding in greeting to Varric and ignoring Anders, who ignored him back. As he sat, he patted his damp tunic, shaking it out and turning it around before laying it back out again to dry evenly on the other side.

Leaning languidly forward to prop his elbows on his knees and stare into the fire, Fenris let his mind wander while he waited for Hawke, rather than allow himself to think even more distracting thoughts about her than those that had seemed to consume him that day. _The evening stew smells good, at least. Just as well, for I have quite an appetite tonight… _

His eyes flicked up from the fire to the tent, then back down again. _Varric seems to be thinking very hard about whatever it is he is writing. I wonder if Hawke will want to speak about her day again? That was a pleasant way to go to sleep, listening to the sound of her voice...  
_

He stopped himself from looking at the tent expectantly again, focusing on his ears instead, after thinking about listening to her talk. _Someone is playing music across the cavern_, he realized, picking out the strains of a song._ A nice tune, and played fairly well, too. It is unfortunate that I cannot dance with Hawke. Not that it matters, she is probably too tired for dancing._

As he sat thinking things that invariably ended up reminding him of her, gazing into the fire, his heel began to tap slightly in time with the music, channeling his impatience and pent up energy into the small movement of matching the rhythm of the faint tune. The motion pulled the back of his tunic open slightly, allowing a slip of the constant Deep Roads air current in to blow across the sensitive skin along his spine. The sensation reminded him of his upcoming quandary.

_Do I make Hawke wait outside while I change into my silk shirt before sleep? It seems rude to kick her out of her own tent when I am the one uncomfortable being seen in such a lavish and revealing shirt in front of these strangers. Changing shirts is not so private a thing for normal men. _He glanced over at Varric. _The dwarf goes about with his shirt half-undone all day long. Perhaps I should just let her remain? _Fenris pointedly did not consider the attire of the other man around their fire._  
_

Part of him wanted to prove to himself that Anders's accusation that he didn't trust Hawke was utter nonsense. Therefore his own hesitation to change shirts in front of her rankled, for that and several other distracting reasons, and he had been trying, since putting on his tunic, to convince himself that he should allow Hawke to stay, later that night.

_I do trust her, as much as I have ever trusted anyone. And I've been seen by hundreds, even thousands of people in Tevinter wearing… very little indeed. _He clenched his jaw, lip curling upwards as he thought of the ridiculous scrap of tunic Danarius had dragged him around in whenever they were not in Seheron. _Why would Hawke seeing me be any different? _Yet even as he thought it, he knew there was a vast difference between having slaves and low ranking magisters gawk at his markings, and having Hawke see them.

_She will find them disturbing or even repulsive. She will pity me. She will never look at me the same way again. _He lowered his head to stare down at his feet, noticing for the first time how he was jiggling his heel up and down. Fenris stilled the slight motion, staring at the lyrium lines that marred even the tops and heels of his feet. Just the action of considering his lyrium markings caused the raucous swirl of emotions about Hawke in his mind to condense into a tight knot, threatening to light them again.

He clamped down hard on the reaction, holding the lyrium talent at bay by sheer force of will, though it was usually second nature to him to keep control. Still, he could almost feel the blaze of the markings all over his body — unlit, unseen tendrils winding across the front of his shoulders, joining with the branches at his neck and throat to trail down his breastbone, descending across his chest but ending just above his stomach.

Whorls and vines similar to the ones on his arms twisted their way up along his sides and around to his back, the pattern skimming his flanks and ending along his shoulders, but not reaching the center of his back — much to Hadriana's delight, he unwillingly recalled.

Fenris tried to close his mind again to the memory of her, but her cruel voice echoed regardless. '_I'm so glad he left some blank skin for me to work with…' _He turned his head slightly, eyes closing as he fought down a quiet growl. _The only declaration that bitch will get from me is one of my utter hatred for her and her kind. If I ever see her again, and if she is fortunate, she will live just long enough when I rip her heart out to see my back one last time as I turn it on her once and for all._

Beginning to feel fidgety, Fenris let his heel bounce again to a disconcertingly jaunty tune lilting across the cavern from the hireling's increasingly raucous camp. His leggings shifted as he worked his leg, putting him in mind of the lyrium tattoos that wrapped and slithered up his calves and thighs, the pattern almost identical to the ones on his arms. He shifted on the bench as he could almost feel the hissing, searing agony of where the markings tapered off just at his groin and buttocks.

_That lecherous old goat of a magister had his blood-stained hands all over me. And who knows for how long. I remember nothing of the ritual but the agony. It could have been hours or years, for all I know. I could have lay there utterly naked for months while Danarius did whatever he wished with my unwilling body… _

The thought made him both furious and ill, and he suddenly remembered the first part of his dream. _He wanted to own every last piece of me, even after twisting me into his own personal lyrium-fueled pet. As if I could ever desire such a cold, arrogant bloodmage, especially after what he did to me._

Fenris could not help but think of some of the lascivious acts to which he had been an unwilling witness while standing guard over the man. Danarius was a powerful enough magister in the Imperial Senate that he'd been able to have virtually anyone he wished, man or woman. It had not escaped Fenris's notice during his long years of slavery under Danarius that the magister had seemed to lean more towards the former than the latter. _Bad enough to have him constantly caressing my markings, admiring his handiwork, or parading me about nearly naked on my golden leash. The thought of having his hands on my… No, I refuse to even think of him in this way._

Fenris's hands curled into white-knuckled fists and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought, as well as the blazing feel of the markings along his hips that connected those of his legs to the ones along his sides. _Never. Never. Never! I never would, I never did, and I never will. I will kill him for what he has already done to me, and he will not get the chance to do more._

"Must you make such a ruckus over there, slamming your foot against the ground?" Anders griped from where he sat on his bench facing the fire, to Fenris's left. "Andraste's fat ass, it feels like an earthquake."

"Ei vento nai mordoi died," Fenris snarled, rising to his feet, so angry at his thoughts and Anders's interruption of them that he did not realize he no longer spoke the common tongue. "Aut voluntevum itiero et ei _exultio, magister_."

"So! Now you finally deign to speak to me, but you do so in some foreign language?" Snorting, Anders threw his hands into the air, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. "And what, may I ask, does that even bloody well mean? I'm going to take a stab in the dark that it wasn't 'I'm so sorry, Anders, I'll try to keep it down.'"

Fenris paused, narrowing his eyes at the mage before he realized he really had been speaking Arcanum. He repeated his threat in Common, more menacingly than before. "I do not wish to kill you, but volunteer again and I would _rejoice_, _mage_."

Anders came to his feet in a whirl of robes, sturdy boots thudding against the cavern floor as he leapt to stand. "Just what is your deal with me? Can't I ask you to keep your stomping and brooding to a dull roar? There are plenty of benches set up and other fires you could go haunt." He made a shooing gesture towards the far, dark side of the cavern where no one had bothered to camp because of all the stalagmites dotting the floor. "Why not go sulk over there in the dark? It suits your black mood better."

"I see I picked the wrong day to give up drinking ale," Varric sighed loudly from his bench. "Can I trust you two not to rip each other apart, or do I have to wait for Hawke to come out before I go grab a few tankards?" He rubbed at his forehead, closing his notebook with the other hand.

Fenris took a deep breath, ignoring Varric and not moving his glare from Anders. He let his mind slip into the relaxed, confident calm that gave him the utterly cool control of the lethal living weapon he truly was, and his dangerous, deep voice reflected it. When he finally spoke, his threatening promise sounded like a flash of light glinting off the sharp edge of a blade.

"I am going nowhere, Anders. I only suffer your presence because of Hawke. Get used to it or go away, I care not which." Fenris turned away and sat back down on the bench, crossing his arms and staring resolutely at the tent flaps. _I hope Hawke finishes soon so we can go have our dinner, then go to bed. I have had enough of this day. And this complete ass of a man._

Anders stood glaring, fists at his sides for a few moments before Varric hopped off his bench and went over to take him to the mess tent. "Come on, Blondie. Let's go check the ale and make sure it'll go well with tonight's stew."

"He acts more like an animal than a man... elf... whatever. Unbelievable…"

Refusing to watch as they moved off to Bodahn's cook tent, Fenris continued sitting rigidly in his imposing posture long after they had gone.

_Magic, mages, magisters,_ he thought darkly, tightening his crossed arms and feeling his muscles flex against himself. _Better to fight and die by your own strength than to have even a little magic. For it is but a matter of time before a mage finds some need great enough to justify his grab for more power. I may be dangerous, but even the weakest mage is more so — a portal for demons to enter this world and wreak havoc on us all. _

_Me? I am what I am, no more and no less. _Though he did not look down, Fenris knew how formidable he must look with his lyrium-fueled build and distinctive features, especially for an elf.

His elven smooth and now summer-tanned skin, covered in lyrium markings, sheathed lithe but strong battle-earned muscles. Stark white hair and silver-white markings stood out brightly against the backdrop of his northern complexion and almost all-black clothing. Penetrating green eyes framed by severe black brows were made all the more sharp for the distinctively elven slant of his strong, angular nose.

In the Imperium, he had been made to feel ashamed of his 'elf face,' and his darker and more rugged complexion from spending so many hot summers in Seheron at Danarius's behest. It had been odd, then, when he'd reached Antiva, the first foreign country to which he had escaped, finding it full of elves and humans, both, who had unabashedly admired his exotic appearance. It had taken many months of unsolicited advances and compliments from the brazen Antivans he met in his travels, but eventually Fenris had come to accept that his looks had been yet another thing the magisters had lied about and twisted his perception of, in an attempt to further cow and collar him.

_Hawke seems to truly appreciate my appearance, _he thought, sitting even a little straighter as he waited alone on the bench for her. His mind gladly replayed the way she had traced his features with the embrium yesterday up in the oak tree. The feel of the soft petals tracing along his lips, up the smooth planes of his cheeks and across his high cheekbones. Even when she had been startled into flicking it towards his low brows, he'd thought it had felt… wonderful.

_The feel of it against my forehead when she swept back my hair… What I would give for it to have been her fingertips. To feel the sweep of her touch along my jaw, trailing up to my ears, or down my neck… _

He thrust away the memory of old taunts from Hadriana about the length of his neck as they popped into his wandering mind. _Hadriana would know about goose necks, as 'fowl' as she is. _He chuckled a little, thinking that Hawke's love of puns must be wearing off on him. _No,_ he decided firmly,_ with a woman such as Hawke, a long neck just means there is more for her to caress._

Fenris finally shifted on the bench a little at the thought of her touch, shoulders sagging slightly with the soft, relaxing idea of it. He uncrossed his arms, taking a good look at the backs and fronts of his hands. _Her touch has not yet triggered anything, nor caused any haunting pains or memories of the ritual. Perhaps they are over? Perhaps I have run far enough and long enough that I am beginning to… heal? _He blinked down at the lines as if waiting for them to respond. _Perhaps I am not as broken as I assumed. _

He looked up as he heard the rustle of tent canvas and took an involuntary deep breath when Hawke's new scent teased its way across to him like an invisible caress.

"Did everyone already go to the mess tent? I didn't think I'd taken _that_ long." Hawke gave him a disconcerted smile over her shoulder as she folded back the tent flaps.

"They went to have some ale," Fenris explained, rising to his feet and crossing the distance to forestall her from picking up the bucket. "Let me. You can lay out the bedrolls." He paused, scanning the interior of the tent with a theatrically suspicious glance. "Unless you left… _puddles_." His teasing act gave him exactly the opportunity he'd wanted to confirm that the tent was now redolent with the scent of her. He quickly picked up the bucket and exited the tent, releasing the flaps to seal in her lovely smell.

"I'll turn you into a puddle, Fenris," she threatened, though her chuckle rendered it rather weak compared to how she usually sounded threatening others.

He lifted one of his eyebrows, running his gaze over her in her fetching, soft, casual clothing. _Even her shoes look soft. Embracing her would be much like waking up with that pillow I kept finding myself holding of late. _

"I would like to see you try," he said seriously, though he lifted the bucket higher in a slow, menacing motion, as if he was considering dumping it over her.

Just as deliberately, Hawke's hand moved under the bucket. She hooked one finger under the bottom rim and tilted it ever so slightly away from herself, her lips curving up into a deep, devious smile as he realized that her small motion would indeed divert the rising bucket to dump over him instead — if they were moving at full speed and truly trying to soak one another.

"I find I must remember again how cunning you are," he remarked, lowering the bucket as slowly as he had raised it. Watching his arm rather closely as he did so, Hawke's eyebrow went up this time. He noticed her attentiveness, and the corner of his lip ticked up when she swallowed rather hard. _Yes, she certainly seems to value me for both my skills __**and**__ appearance,_ he thought with pleasure.

He tried his best not to swagger as he crossed the cavern to toss out her bucket of water, though it was difficult. _I can feel her eyes following me… _Checking discreetly over his shoulder as he leaned forward to chuck the wash water into the abandoned corner, he was not disappointed by the look of rapt attention of her face._ It is good to be needed_, he decided._ Wanted is even better. _

Still, as he turned, he tried to hold Leandra's warnings in his head, as well as the memory of Hawke's battered elbow and his own unintentional lyrium flare. _I must maintain control. She is tired and so am I. We have far to go yet, both in the Deep Roads and to reach the point where we could even attempt… that. I am already able to do more with her than I have ever wanted to do with anyone, even if it is not as much as I dream of doing. _

Fenris pointed to the tent behind Hawke, then towards the mess tent. She jumped a little, quickly slipping into her tent to roll out their bedrolls before hurrying over to him. He chuckled to himself at her forgetfulness and haste, relishing that he was the cause of both, and how she went out of her way to meet him so they could walk together.

"Is your arm feeling better?" he asked as she approached. The sway of her hips and the swing of her arms were the same as ever, though, in her casual attire, he found his eyes drawn to watching her movements even more than usual.

"Much better, yes, thank you. Elfroot tea did the trick." Hawke gave him a private, slightly shy smile. "And of course your… healing touch helped, as well." They fell in beside one another to cross the short distance to the mess tent, walking in close company together.

Though he was glad her arm and thumb felt better, Fenris kept his hands on the bucket handle, deciding that it would be far better to be seen to be grimly escorting her to the mess tent.

_I long to hold her hand and feel her touch again, but I must remember to protect her above all else. I will hardly look formidable if I am seen… canoodling with her in public. _He rolled his eyes. _No, as long as I am at her side, it can be enough. Besides, it seems we will have a good deal of time together from this point forward. I can take her hand all night if I wish. In the privacy of… our tent._

His mouth went a little dry at his mental declaration that the tent was 'theirs,' instead of just 'Hawke's'. "Should I go back and bring a bottle of wine?" he asked, voice a little raspy and nervous. _Not this unnerving awkwardness again… _

"We can save it for another day. I'm so tired that wine might knock me out, right into my bowl of stew…" Hawke yawned and stretched as if to emphasize her statement, reaching one hand over her head and one behind Fenris.

She just barely managed to stop short of letting her hand trail down his back as she let her arms drop. _Now, now, Marian, you are not so tired that you've lost all your wits. Let him come to you. We have nothing but time. Pawing at him will get you nowhere. Do not meddle with a good thing — he seems to be in a rare, fine mood, and the last thing I want is to set him panicking the night away in our tent. That would be rather… awkward._

They walked in their careful silence until, wordlessly, Fenris split off to deposit the wash bucket into the stack of others beside the mess tent as Hawke approached Bodahn with a smile and cheerful greeting. By the time Fenris quietly returned, she already had four bowls of stew lined up along one arm and a mounded plate of bread held aloft in her other hand. Ignoring Sandal's gaping, Fenris pressed himself back against the wide tent opening to let her pass as he picked up two spoons and a pair of cloth napkins.

He fell in to loom behind Hawke, gravely eying the hirelings who glanced or outright stared at her from both sides of the narrow aisle of tables. All smiles and polite nods, Hawke effortlessly and obliviously wended her way through the crowded cluster of benches to the table where Varric and Anders already sat.

Fenris plunked down the place settings before plucking a bowl of stew from her arm with each hand, setting his warrior-sized portion in front of him just as she set down the plate of bread between them. Hawke pushed his third bowl of stew over with a chuckle as she lowered her single bowl. Fenris seemed sheepish for only a moment as he gathered the bowl up his others, but then he waved a dismissive gesture at her, wryly muttering something that only made her laugh harder.

Hawke sat just a few seconds before Fenris, since he politely waited for her to seat herself first. Her legs tucked mindfully under her bench as his long legs and bare feet extended towards her side of the table. Even as she slid over two tumblers that rested on the table near the water pitcher, murmuring and laughing with Varric and Anders, he was already quietly picking up the pitcher to pour a measure of the cool water for both of them.

They picked up their tumblers almost as one, Hawke leaning in to make some witty toast to Fenris that made him chuckle before they took a sip. Then they tucked hungrily into their food together in a palpably companionable silence.

Though neither Hawke or Fenris even noticed the practiced ease with which they now danced around one another, complementing the other's movements, conspiratorial murmurs of appreciation, suspicion, and envy were exchanged between the sorely curious hirelings, who then began heatedly debating about them in careful whispers. Where had they come from, how had they gotten together, how long must they have been with each other to move like that, even at the dinner table — and just _why_ were they the last to supper?

Though bets were made as to which one took the lead in battle and which in bed, few of the hirelings were eager to find out the former, and none had any good idea of how to discover the latter — not without serious risk of injury from the crazy, dwarven ale-swilling dragonslayer or her formidable, dangerous, stony-faced elf lover that only she could seem to make smile.

* * *

Outside of their tent, Fenris carefully inspected his armor before setting it aside, taking extra care to make sure that Hawke's embrium was still safely tucked away into the peak of his chestplate. _It would not do to lose this. Once it has dried out, she will want to save it to show to the herbalist, this Lady Elegant. Besides, it is too precious a thing to lose to the dark, down here._

After he finished retrieving his now-dry tunic from the bench, folding it away into his pack, he realized he could no longer put off his decision of whether or not to change into his silk shirt in front of Hawke. Reluctantly, he pulled one of the slithery garments out of his pack, buying a few more precious seconds by shaking it out vigorously.

_I miss my bed,_ he thought sullenly as he unrumpled the shirt with a snap, annoyance at his own hesitation spilling over into his actions and other thoughts._ This rock will be far harder than even the meager straw pallet Danarius allowed me in my… closet. Nor do I have all my pillows. And I miss sleeping without having to wear all these restrictive clothes. I may like my armor, but that does not mean I wish to wear it constantly. Even though this silk is quite luxurious, it cannot compare to allowing my skin to breathe at night. It is no wonder I feel so… fidgety and... chafed. _Frowning deeply and feeling rather grumpy, he squirmed a little where he stood, both thinking about his comfort and the predicament he now faced.

Hawke poked her head out of the tent flap, cocking her head up at him as she knelt on hands and knees on her bedroll. "Are you still fussing about with your armor? I thought you said you were tired and wanted an early night?"

She paused, taking in the sight of him holding his shirt out before him. _I had almost forgot that he was still wearing his tunic. It makes sense that he might not want to be seen at dinner wearing such a fine silk shirt; it would not do to tempt the hirelings into nicking it. But no doubt he will want to change into it now._

She nodded her head up at his shirt. Trying to sound nonchalant, she asked, "Shall I give you some privacy so you can ready yourself for bed?" _It won't do to sound like I am panting over him, nor to seem to be pressuring him to go faster than he wishes to go... though I am sorely curious._

Fenris still did not quite know how to respond to her question. _Why am I hesitating? I should have decided already. Now I can tell that she is nervous about this. She hides it well, but that slight quaver was unmistakable to my ears. It could mean… anything. _

He began to feel irritated — by all the possible reasons for her hesitation, the frustrating mix of emotions he felt, but mostly by his own cowardice. _Venhedis, I will do this and let her do what she wills. I will just trust her judgement. Regardless, I will not let Anders be proven right._

Pushing his way into the tent without looking at her, he sat cross-legged on his bedroll facing the wrong way. "Do what you wish, Hawke," he stated, careful to keep his voice neutral so she would not react one way or the other based on his own nervousness, fears or expectations. He took a deep breath, trying to relax with the scent of her so thick in the air, the quiet security of the comfortably large tent, and Hawke's familiar presence at his back.

Still, he could not help but grit his teeth as he began undoing the fastenings of his tunic.

Hawke was still frozen in the act of kneeling on her bedroll, though she'd sat back on her heels when he'd pushed his way into their tent. _It stays nicely dark and quiet in here, _a small part of her mind mused while the majority of it reeled as she tried to decide frantically what she should do.

_Should I leave for a moment? Would he think that I am being considerate? Or that I am withdrawing because of his markings, or because I do not desire him? Perhaps I should just stay like this, with my back turned? Yes, that is probably prudent. Maybe I should start up an innocuous conversation so he doesn't think I am nervous or panicking._

"So, dinner tonight was quite… good," she said, staring doggedly at the tent flaps. "Did you eat your fill, or shall I bring four bowls just for you, tomorrow?"

"I think three bowls is plenty," Fenris responded slowly.

Hawke could hear him fidgeting behind her. _Confidently? Nervously? Panicking…ly? _she wondered.

"A little more bread might not go amiss though…" His tone was cautious, but she could hear him pause in undoing his shirt and pat at his bare stomach, the soft slap of it piquing her interest even as his prodigious appetite amused her.

She chuckled. _So, he was fidgeting greedily. And probably also from being uncomfortably full. A warrior's appetite indeed, but I will not be the one to come between him and his food. He is obviously putting it to good use… _She fought down an urge to turn and take in his bare physique.

"I'll see to it, then," she assured him fondly. "I don't know how Bodahn did it, but that sourdough flatbread he managed to make is rather good, if a little… well, flat. Makes it good for dipping in stew though, and better than no bread at all, certainly." Hawke relaxed as she chatted, since talking was one of her natural states of being. "Maybe it's some ancient dwarven recipe. Shall I ask for it, and make it for you once we are back in Kirkwall?"

Fenris paused in the act of shrugging out of his tunic, remembering how lovely Hawke had looked both times he'd seen her kneeling by a cookfire. His mouth would have begun to water at the thought of her cooking, but he was still quite stuffed from dinner. Bodahn's cooking seemed to nearly rival her own. "If you wish, yes. I would like that… it would go well with your fifteen-hour chicken."

Hawke snorted, almost turning her head to fix him with a smirk before she remembered herself. "It was perhaps three or four hours," she protested, "and very respectable, too, given the circumstances!" She began gnawing on her lower lip as she heard the distinct, unmuffled jingle of his wolf pendant, knowing that he moved utterly shirtless behind her. Hurriedly, she began repeating her chant in her head. _No rushing. Let him come to you. Take your time._

"Did you hear me complain, woman?" he teased with a dramatic sigh. "It was merely an observation."

Shifting over to sit more squarely in the center of the tent where the ceiling was tallest, Fenris slipped his silk shirt over his head rather than unbutton it. He quickly pulled the long sleeves over his arms, then shrugged the rest of the shirt over his head and shoulders, wincing a little as the collar caught on his ears and bent them roughly. After tugging firmly down to fully cover himself, he leaned over to fold up his tunic. Hawke remained rather silent, seeming to have dropped the conversation, despite his teasing. _Perhaps she saw..._

Wordlessly and nervously he turned to crawl to the tent opening and deposit his other folded tunic onto the top of his pack with the rest of his armor. He studiously avoided looking at Hawke, keeping his eyes down instead. After poking out of the tent flaps and double-checking that his armor and sword were all in readiness and having done the final thing he set out to accomplish for the night, Fenris felt the bone deep weariness of the day's uncomfortable and arduous journey wash over him.

"I am… more than ready to sleep," he announced as he drew back into the cozy tent, sitting on his heels and turning reluctantly to face Hawke. He relaxed when he saw she was sitting in much the same fashion, obviously looking away slightly out of courtesy to him.

_Well, no one can accuse me of throwing her out of our tent because I do not trust her. And she can be trusted, as it seems she did not even peek. But still… _Fenris felt slightly disappointed by the blank look on her face, and the fact that she'd innately known that he'd needed privacy and soothing small talk.

_A woman as beautiful as Hawke is probably more accustomed to men finding excuses to take off their shirts in front of her and make small talk, than a man who hopes she will not turn to look at him while letting her do most of the speaking._

Hawke finally broke off her frantic internal chanting and took in the sight of him kneeling a mere arm's length away from her in the dim tent. "I am ready for sleep too," she admitted, trying but failing to raise her eyes to his. They seemed to be drawn and fixated to the same previously hidden markings she'd appreciated seeing the last two nights she'd spent with him. She could see them again now, trailing from his neck to branch out towards his shoulders and down along his breastbone. _So perfectly handsome, and those markings are too distracting by half. They seem designed to lead the eye downward…_

"You have no right to look so handsome this tired, Fenris," she said with a chuckle, shaking her head mournfully as she tore her eyes away to regard him fully. "Even though your hair needs a comb and your shirt looks a bit creased from travel, you look far too fine for sitting in an ox-eaten tent in the sod... the Deep Roads." She paused, cocking her head a little to the side. "Your collar is half inside out, but that only draws the eye even more to you. Perhaps I should institute a 'no looking better than me in my own tent' rule?"

Fenris blinked quietly. _She flatters me, but surely she must realize how lovely she always looks. Still, it is perhaps the most unique compliment I've ever received, _he thought with silent amusement. He did not know how to respond, torn between taking her hand and going to bed, or trying… something, though he did not know what.

_Try… trusting her, _he finally decided, giving up his control of situation.

Though Hawke could just make out in the dim light that one corner of Fenris's mouth was turned up into a distant, almost shy smile, he just sat facing her, not responding or meeting her eyes as he looked away. She risked reaching out to tuck his hair aside, flipping his mussed strands back into place with careful fingertips. His head bowed forward to let her, almost in a nod, then he held still, so she took her time letting his white hair slip through her fingers. _Yet his eyebrows are black… I wonder if the lyrium changed it to white? Regardless, it is a lovely contrast against the color of his skin, and it makes his eyes stand out even more vibrantly. So soft. I wish I could run my hands through it, or feel it trailing against my bare skin…_

_But no, I must take care not to go too fast. I'm just… helping sort him before bed, that's all. We may be needed in the middle of the night, and it would not do to look unprofessional. _When she finished smoothing his ruffled hair down, she further chanced reaching to unfold his inverted collar, though she was reluctant to pull her hands away from his silky, thick hair.

Hawke slowly moved her hands to under his chin, taking pains not to brush his downturned face before she worked her deft fingers along the smooth, cool fabric alongside his neck. Fenris lifted his chin then, eyes closing when she leaned in closer to flip his collar straight up. She heard him exhale languorously as the silky edges of his shirt brushed against his neck, so she took her time, fussing slowly with the collar a little more than was necessary before she began to fold it down properly, starting from the back.

Even in the near-dark interior of the thick canvas tent, she looked at his face and could easily make out the sinuous, forked lyrium tattoo that caressed his chin. It was the marking she was most familiar with, for it wended from just below his bottom lip to trail down under his chin, joining with the main trunk of markings down the front his neck. Over the past three weeks, she'd often found herself tracing her eyes over it when they spoke, or considering it as she judged the expression on his face.

As close as she was to him while she fixed his collar, she felt his soft, deep breaths on her face. It felt as though she was drawn closer every time he inhaled, and Hawke took a deep breath of her own to calm herself as she carefully lay his collar flat. _If he closed the gap between us, I might never come up for air again. If I close it, however, he might withdraw and never come back._

As he felt her fingers slip free from his collar and the very presence of her receded from him, Fenris despaired, keenly missing the sensations of her careful contact. After the unexpectedly harrowing day of both subtle and overt discomforts, he ached for more of her gentle, soothing ways. _It may well be that I will not be able to bear more of her touch, but I know I cannot bear this way she constantly pulls back from me. Holding her hands felt so right. I want… more! I need… something. _

Thinking first of the embrium, of the careful and painless way she'd caressed his face with the flower, and then of the petal-soft feel of her skin under his lips, Fenris reached out and caught Hawke's hands. Even with his eyes closed, his finely-honed warrior skills could pinpoint where she was, just by sound, instinct, and the subtle awareness of her that had become second nature after days and weeks of her increasingly constant presence.

He kept his eyes closed as he pressed her right hand to the side of his face, drawing her left to his chest and pressing it over his heart, just where her fingertips had lingered in his dream and her hand had pressed earlier that day, when she'd tucked the embrium into his armor.

Hawke's breath hitched as Fenris caught her and drew her in. She did not fight him, but she did maintain a careful distance so he could withdraw if it became too much. It was also to keep herself from enveloping him fully, so used to affection as she was with her family and close friends. Even as she ached to wrap her arms around him, she let Fenris's hands guide hers in cautious exploration, trusting that he would let her know when he was ready for more.

_I love him,_ she thought, cupping his rugged cheek to find it wondrously smooth as she brushed her thumb just under his closed eye, across one high, elven cheekbone. _I would relish being his family, embracing him and having him always this near. After everything he has been through, he deserves such happiness. I would work tirelessly to give it to him. I could never regret making any effort on his behalf. Even keeping this distance between us is a bittersweet pain I gladly bear for him._

Her hand was every bit as soft against his face as Fenris had hoped and dreamed, yet still better than any flower or any Fade vision of her could even wish to be. The thrill of feeling her hands under his, pressed against his chest and cheek, and the heat of her skin seemed to blaze through into his veins, spreading out all over his body as his blood coursed through him. _Yes. This feels right. Hawke. Marian. _

He wanted to say her name, but he was too far gone with the very feel of her. Deep in the rightness of her touch, control over himself fully slipped away and he gave himself over to relax into her. Fenris did not fight it, knowing instinctively that if he made any effort to assert his own desires, he might go too far and incur some of the consequences that had been troubling his thoughts.

Hawke could feel a strong beat under her fingers, his heart thudding resolutely against the tightly mounded plane of his chest. _So strong,_ she thought, sorely tempted to slip her hand in between the buttons of his silk shirt to feel his thews directly. She resisted, though she let her other hand slip to trail up and down along his sculpted jaw, Fenris's own hand guiding her away from the lyrium markings at his neck, but towards his ear.

_Such a beautiful, complex man,_ she thought in a slight daze as her fingers caressed his earlobe, thumb brushing a lock of his hair back to massage his temple._ Both his heart and his body seem sometimes to be made of cold steel, and yet there is such a silky warmth to him. _She rubbed her other hand over his sleek shirt, smiling and enjoying the solid feel of him much more when it wasn't her elbow experiencing his armor.

As Hawke more boldly caressed his face and chest, Fenris distantly became aware of a sudden tightness in his mind. His emotions began to overwhelmed him, and his hands tightened on hers, trying to still her, as awareness came back to him. Her motions immediately ceased, but the tightness in his mind continued to contract unabated.

_No…_ he thought, struggling to regain control but unable or unwilling to release Hawke. He already heard the subtle, high-pitched hum in his ears that accompanied the lighting of his lyrium talent. His eyes snapped open in alarm, looking into Hawke's, even as she looked down, featured limned radiantly, eyes wide.

The tent was already glowing with the bluish-white light of lyrium, every tendril on his body alight and shining through his black clothes. "No…!" he growled, focusing on Hawke's startled face as best he could to anchor himself before he fully phased. _I cannot let her pass through me, or me through her. I do not know what that would do to her. Startling her would be the least of it — I could not bear it if she were hurt! _Thoughts of his nightmares made him feel panicked, only serving to fuel his lyrium more.

Resolving to distance himself and setting his mouth into a flat line, Fenris bent his entire will to the task of extinguishing his lyrium talent, but the sight of Hawke and the feel of her hands kept distracting him. _Let her go, little wolf…_ a cold part of him commanded, but he struggled to comply there, too. _I… do not want to let go, _he thought, just as when they'd first held hands. _I can't. I… can't._

As he fought, he managed to keep himself solid but accomplished little else.

Hawke's eyes worked to take in the full sight of Fenris illuminated before her, squinting a little at the sudden brilliance of the otherworldly light. As if motivated by her long nights of wondering, however, her eyes adjusted quickly and drank up each ribbon of light, flitting from one to another all along his body like a hummingbird busily sipping nectar from a wall of flowering vines — or a moth battering against a lamp hood, daring to get burned. The fabric and leather of his clothing muted and diffused the hidden markings a little, but it only served to pique her curiosity and her desire to see more of him.

"Maker, Fenris… it's so… beautiful," she declared when she finally found enough breath to speak, caressing him again despite his tight grip. She looked up into his eyes, gasping as she finally noticed the grim cast to his face. "Please, don't go," she added fervently, halting her resumed caress to cling to him instead, suddenly afraid that he would flee or somehow disappear entirely, fading into nothingness like a ghost.

Her frantic plea and tight grip jarred him out of his spiral. At the sight of her frightened eyes, the feel of her hand fisting in his shirt, and her short nails rasping against his cheek, Fenris finally was able to dispel the tight knot of emotions that had built up and run away from him. The tent dimmed back to darkness, seeming even blacker for the sudden lack of bright light. Both of them were glad for the blanket of blindness, taking the respite from one another's tense gazes to recover a little.

Fenris's hands fell away from hers as he slumped, feeling exhausted, weary, and defeated from his struggle with the lyrium in his skin, the long day, and from a lifetime of having his hopes dashed. Hawke reluctantly let go, too, not wanting to impose her touch on him when it seemed to cause him such distress.

He knew he needed to apologize, and he wanted to get it over with before his eyes adjusted. _I will not be able to bear speaking once I see the look of horror on her face. At least if I apologize now, she might merely look as though she pities me. _"I'm sor…"

"Don't, Fenris," she said, voice thin and weary, quavering with an unfathomable mix of emotions. "Just… don't."

He looked down and away at her tone when she cut him off, fighting down the shame and despair that still reflexively tried to claim him from his time as a slave._ It was too much to hope for. What does it matter, anyway… _Then, his new reflexes kicked in, ones forged and sharpened over the past three years of defiance, of running, of fighting to remain free. He began to grow angry.

_I knew it… _he thought, hands curling into fists on his thighs. _She... _But her hands reached out in the dark and found his wrists, sliding down to fold over his balled hands, loosening them, deft fingers slipping into the small gap. She worked her way in deeper and lifted his hands up, careful not to brush against his legs as she reassuringly squeezed his fingers.

"_I'm_ sorry." Her voice was quiet, but her hands were resolute.

"Why?" he asked, voice tight and hoarse as he fought down anger, fatigue, disappointment, and surprise, wondering why she would apologize to him. There was a brief pause, and he could hear the soft exhalation her chuckle.

"If you'd apologized for that, I may never have forgiven you," Hawke teased quietly. "And then where would you sleep?" He remained quiet, and her eyes could barely make out his face, though she suspected it would be hard to read his inscrutable expression anyway. But he did not pull back, so she unfolded her legs and crawled to stretch out on her bedroll, urging him gently along the length of his own.

Fenris silently let her tug him more fully onto his bed, though he released her hands so he could curl up on it. Now that his eyes had better adjusted to the weak light in the tent, he could see the fond softness to Hawke's features, and he stretched out the length of his bedroll, facing her as she faced him.

_Does nothing frighten this woman? _he wondered with tiredly amused resignation. He'd already given up on untangling his emotions, now that she had confused and scattered them all, leaving him utterly disarmed. _Too cunning and roguish by half… I will have to remember that. And fearless.  
_

Then he remembered her frantic plea that he not go. His heart strained in his chest, battering against the cage of his ribs as if it was reaching out for her touch again. _I have spent three years having no one but Danarius and his hunters commanding me stay. She is the first one who ever pleaded for me not to go. Many who have seen the light of my lyrium markings beg, but… not like that._

As he reached across to caress her cheek, Fenris realized that one benefit to the hard, cold stone was that it had spurred her into placing their bedrolls directly side by side so neither would have to feel the unyielding bite of rock if they turned in their sleep. The tent was also already warm enough from their combined body heat that the coolness seeping up even through the thick bedroll was very welcome. And the imperceptible rumble of the Deep Roads, though muffled by the tent canvas, seemed to subtly hum through the ground, lulling his whole body into immediate, languid drowsiness.

"This is… not bad," he observed quietly, brushing his thumb across Hawke's lips. He could feel her smile even before he saw it.

"As I said before… I wouldn't change a thing," she replied, sleep already creeping in around the edges of her breathy response. Fenris noticed how her hands lay between them, just as they had the night before. He scooted closer until her fingertips nudged his chest. Even as he wound his other hand into her hair, he could feel her mouth press into a concerned line beneath his thumb.

"Fenris…" she started to protest, concern plain in her voice, but he pressed his thumb gently to still her lips, leaving her to only think her reassurances. _We can wait. Take your time. I'll be here. There is no rush._

Fenris felt all the reassurance he needed in his chest and under his hands. _Practice makes perfect… And concern, I can live with. It is a far cry from her pity. I do want her to care for me, after all. _"You worry too much," he chided, keeping careful control over his emotions. "Trust me."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded against his palm. One of her hands slipped up to his bolster and under where his head lay, fingers once again caressing his face. They moved slowly to brush along his cheek, then a little more sporadically. Hawke fought to remain awake against her fatigue and the soothing way Fenris ran his fingers through her hair and along her jaw.

_Feeling his marvelous hands on me, there is no need for my journal tonight… Maker, I am so tired, but I wish I could stay awake all night to be with him like this. He is so brave, so tenacious, so unique, skilled, wondrous, and beautiful. Even though he has suffered, even for all his rugged, spiky edges, it just makes this better._ _It has all made him into this man that I love… I would not change this for anything — Deep Roads and bone-weariness or no. _

_But tomorrow is another long day, and we need to rest… _A long, pleasant sigh drifted away from her, and she tried to let herself sleep.

Fenris felt himself drifting off too, soothed by her petal-soft skin against his cheek and under his hand, and the feel of the silky strands of her hair slipping between his fingers — though he resolutely attempted to continue stroking her lips, in lieu of being able to kiss her.

_Once I am confident I can control my lyrium talent under her touch, I will kiss her such as she has never been kissed, _he decided, keeping a better grip on his emotions even as he drowsed. No longer tense or wound up after having experienced more of Hawke's touch, her acceptance, and her beguiling ways, and feeling the almost hypnotic effect of the steady rock humming beneath him, Fenris found it much easier to keep his thoughts flowing, even though they still whirled chaotically.

_I do not like the Deep Roads, but this isn't so bad. And at least dinner was good. It smells just like her in here. Tomorrow will be another long day, I suppose. We have all night. She is tired and needs her rest. Yes. This feels right. No hunters, no Danarius. This will be a very long expedition, but I will relish every minute I spend in our tent…_

Hawke stilled for a few moments before rousing once more, fingers trailing down along Fenris's jaw as her other hand reached across to press against his chest. "Goodnight, Fenris," she murmured against his unmoving thumb. She planted a soft kiss on the pad of it before nuzzling against his hands. "Sweet dreams."

Fenris, who had dozed off too, came more fully awake at her kiss. "Somnia dulcit," he murmured into her palm, drowsily and unknowingly wishing her the same in Arcanum when he turned his head to kiss her hand. Then he nestled back against it, taking a deep, restful breath and enjoying the feel of her fingers splayed against his chest, as if she was questing for his heart with her warm, open hand.

* * *

Unlikely song-spiration for the end of this chapter? ET by Katy Perry and Kanye West. I do not turn inspiration away, even when it comes from unusual sources. ;)


	34. Interlude: Troubles in the Deep

**A/N: **Thank you all so much for the amazing reviews. I am overwhelmed by your kind and encouraging words — you have no idea what it means. I am seriously just blown away!

As far as trying my hand at writing professionally, I am definitely considering it; I am enjoying this far too much. But not until I finish this story, which will be a while. I intend to see this through to the end, and I sort of have a one-track mind (which is set to Fenris at the moment!) :) Luckily for all of us, David Gaider, the main man himself, is putting out a new Dragon Age book at the end of the year. I'll continue finishing this unofficial one in the meantime! :P

Anyway, thank you all once again for joining me throughout this unexpected journey of discovering that I have a passion for writing. I am so pleased that the fun labor of getting all these thoughts, words, and plots out of my head is also enjoyed by others, too. Win-win!

Also a quick shout out to all my twitter followers — you guys are so awesome, hilarious & inspire me throughout the day!

Today's inspirations - pictures!

- My inspiration for Fenris's torso markings are based on this lovely bit of fanart - bit. ly / fPsQ8Y (remove the spaces) The hint of those side swirls? Unf.

- My inspiration for Fenris's physique (caution, nsfw, mature Fenart ahead!) - bit. ly / iizVJ7 and bit. ly /mTctCX (I am not a fan of all the ripped-Fenris fanart out there, so Breogan's interpretation is one of my favorites, and so very realistic. Maybe too realistic, yum!)

With that, enjoy!

* * *

_2 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon_

"Time to sodding get up and get on with the expedition!"

Fenris's eyes came open, fully awake and aware of his surroundings before Bartrand had shouted three words. He was particularly aware of the sensation of Hawke's palm still pressed against his cheek, and how, as she roused from sleep, her fingertips grazed along his ear.

_I could do with less shouting, but all in all I've been woken up in far less pleasant ways…_ He remained contentedly still, relaxing into Hawke's touch rather than complying with Bartrand's resounding morning greeting.

"I don't want it to be morning," she grumbled sleepily, trying to bury herself deeper into her bedroll. "I'm a partner… I should get to sleep in as a perk." She nudged against Fenris's hand as she did so, the one still wound in her hair.

"If it is of any comfort, the rest of us are not getting any more sleep than you," Fenris replied dryly, already sounding perfectly awake. "No one could have slept through that." He reluctantly untangled his fingers from her hair to run them along her brow.

Her forehead creased in consternation, so he decided it was indeed a good way to keep her from going back to sleep. "So _tired_," she sighed. "Maker, I should have taken more than just one day between wrapping up our last jobs and leaving Kirkwall…"

Fenris chuckled quietly, seeking her other hand with his to rub it and help her fully awaken. "It was more like half a day, if I recall. But you are a busy woman. Doubtless you would have found yet another mystery to embroil us all in if you had stayed idle for more than those few hours." He finally located her hand on his own bedroll, where it must have lain after it slipped off his chest in their sleep.

She hummed a drowsy chuckle as his fingers stroked the back of her hand. "Hmph, probably. Someone would have lost a dog or needed an escort to the top of Sundermount, thinking me just the person to help."

Fenris closed his own eyes, holding back a groan as her finger traced the entire edge of his ear. Trying to distract himself, lest he get utterly carried away before breakfast, he said, "Actually, I think there _is_ a missing dog notice on the Chanter's Board…"

"Varric! By the Ancestors, get your hairy hide out of your tent! I need to talk to you! And that goes for the rest of you lazy blighters as well! We move out in an hour, and it doesn't matter to me if you all get left behind, hungry, half-dressed, and _unpaid_!"

Hawke groaned, reluctantly pulling away from Fenris to sit up on her bedroll and rub at her face. "Maker, and I thought waking up to Gamlen's bellyaching was bad." She slumped forward and massaged one shoulder, working the knot out of it from sleeping in the same position all night.

_Worth every aching muscle, _she decided, even as she winced. _Being able to touch Fenris like that… and having him touch me back? I would lay here all day on the bare stone for that… Thankfully, I will soon be able to afford a nice, big bed._

Fenris sat up too, rolling his neck and pushing his unkempt hair out of his eyes before he stretched. "Well, that is why we are here, Hawke. To get you a nice quiet mansion. Just like mine — though, yours won't be quite as… borrowed." She drowsily beamed over at him, and he found himself smiling back, thinking how nice it was going to be having her in Hightown and always nearby.

_No more long treks to and from Lowtown, and probably no more need for her to spend so much time at The Hanged Man. It is too loud and crowded. I much prefer quiet, and it is… nice to be alone with her._

As he watched Hawke stretching where she sat on her bedroll, Fenris suddenly remembered something she had mentioned at his mansion. _I wonder if she was serious about buying a large bed…_ He looked away from her abruptly to scratch behind his ear. His embarrassment only grew, however, as the motion of rubbing at his ear reminded him of the way she had just been absentmindedly stroking it.

_I will need to redouble my efforts to focus, today. I... _His resolve was almost immediately shattered by Hawke reaching over to smooth down his hair with both hands.

She tutted and fussed over him fondly. "Just look at you. I'll go bring us some cool water to wash up before breakfast. It won't do your fierce reputation any good if everyone sees you looking so thoroughly rumpled, Fenris."

Fenris fixed her with a blank look, one eyebrow creeping up, wondering exactly how he did look. _No doubt they would attribute any… rumpling to Hawke, herself,_ he mused. _Still, I will not discourage her attentions, not when it feels this… good. _He often dreamed of feeling her fingers running through his hair, so he enjoyed the chance to compare reality with the Fade. _No comparison. None at all,_ he decided easily.

Hawke finally let the last few strands of Fenris's white hair slip through her fingers, though she had been satisfied with his appearance for some time. _Too handsome and distracting by half,_ she thought with an inward, resigned sigh. _I will need to be extra careful today to keep things professional in front of the others. And to keep from getting carried away with Fenris, himself. I do not want to overstep any bounds with him. Well, I __**do,**__ but not like that…_

Still, she let herself quickly caress his cheek before crawling her way to the tent flaps. _Hmm, I never really thought about it before but… elves get no stubble at all, not even first thing in the morning. How novel… and convenient. Round-the-clock, scratch-free kissing…_

Putting her distracting thoughts away for later and attending to more practical matters, she asked "Could you please roll up the bedrolls while I fetch us our water?" Then she paused to look back and admire Fenris one last time before officially starting their second day in the Deep Roads.

Fenris crawled over beside her, extending a hand to carefully smooth out Hawke's own tousled locks before she emerged into the sunless underground morning to face the rest of the expedition crew. _It is only fair, since I likely caused most of these snarls during the night… _

"Of course, Hawke." Her eyes went half-lidded as he worked to make her more presentable, then fully closed when he moved to brush his thumb against her lips. "And… good morning." He could feel her smile and sigh. _When I can control these lyrium flares around her, I will relish the feel of her smiling and sighing against my lips, instead of my thumb…_

Her eyes fluttered open as he released her to sit back on his heels. "A very good morning to you too, Fenris." _I love you. I wish we had all day in this tent together. You are amazing…_

"Varric! You nug-humping, slow, sodding **bastard**! I _will_ come over there and drag you from that tent if I have to, and you will _not_ like it!"

Rolling their eyes at Bartrand's increasingly charming roars, they each tucked back a flap of the tent and peered out into the stirring camp. Both sighed involuntarily as the sights, sounds, and smells of the Deep Roads and rousing expedition crew invaded the quiet coziness of their tent.

"Hawke. Elf," Varric greeted with a resigned nod as he trudged past, heading for Bartrand's lone tent as he still threaded his wide belt through his duster.

"Morning, Varric," Hawke called in return, rising and stretching in front of the tent. "Nice to see your 'hairy hide' up and about. I was not looking forward to another blast of Bartrand's lungs."

"Yes, I believe he may be eager to speak with you," Fenris remarked.

"Oh? Well, I believe I'll volunteer you two to pull carts today, since you're in such high spirits."

Fenris's sarcasm and Varric's snarky grumblings made Hawke chuckle as she headed in the opposite direction to the water casks near the mess tent. A cloud of steam from the morning pot of porridge was already curling up above it, and Bodahn and Sandal bustled about within.

Fenris quickly rolled up the two bedrolls, rather enjoying the pleasant scent of honey and berries that wafted up from Hawke's still-warm one. _Tonight_, he told himself, already looking forward to it. He stacked them out front of the tent, then carried both his pack and Hawke's inside.

Just as he did so, Anders crawled out of his own tent, narrowly avoiding collapsing it as he pushed his broad, pauldroned shoulders through the narrow opening.

_That mage wears so many layers, one would think he still lived in the Anderfels,_ Fenris thought, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Anders shot a grumpy look in his direction as he stood, then turned his back on Fenris to reach back into his tent to draw out his staff. Fenris suppressed a chuckle as the already askew tent finally collapsed.

"Balls!" Anders cursed, loud enough to echo faintly around the large cavern. He yanked on his staff until the head of it finally came free of the ropes and canvas.

Hawke approached with a partially filled bucket in each hand, bare feet barely making a sound against the smooth, stone cavern floor. "Oh dear. Well, I suppose that saves you the trouble of striking it. I'll help you pack it away later, Anders, no worries."

Anders leaned on his staff and rubbed at his forehead, already looking exhausted though the day had only just begun. "Thank you, Marian. And good morning."

"Good morning," Hawke replied, favoring the mage with an encouraging smile. She diverted from her path, stopping to check up on him. "You slept well, I hope?"

"About as well as is possible down here or in this blasted, canvas deathtrap." He nudged the uneven pile of cloth with a booted foot before balefully eying Hawke's larger tent. His unhappy gaze considered Fenris, too, narrowing for a moment.

Fenris left his face blank rather than put on a scowl, not wanting to give Anders the satisfaction of seeing how he was already irritating him and disrupting the flow of his morning. _It is always something with that one. And with Hawke around, he seems even more intent on putting on a show to draw her attention. _He lifted his neat stack of armor and lay it next to his pack inside the tent, turning his back on the mage.

"Well, I'll try to put it up more securely for you tonight," Hawke replied, the sympathetic tone in her voice making Fenris roll his eyes. "See you at breakfast in a few. I need to get dressed before Bartrand sets the carts rolling and my tent is dragged away with me still inside it."

She chuckled at her own joke, but Fenris did not hear Anders make a sound. He gritted his teeth, imagining the mage must be focusing instead on thoughts of Hawke dressing — it was what he himself was thinking, after all.

Hawke finally came over with the buckets, plunking one down by Fenris before taking hers into the far corner. She folded open the rear tent flaps, letting in more reddish-orange cavern light after setting it down. Then she noticed her pack, turning to look back at him.

"You even dragged my pack in? How terribly thoughtful of you, Fenris!"

Fenris shrugged, reaching behind himself to pull the front flaps closed again. "I just do not wish to fall out of your good graces, Hawke. Judging from what I just saw of… _Anders's_ tent, I would not much enjoy having to sleep in one of those." He tried to keep his tone playful, but as usual he could not help the sour note in his voice when he was forced to say the apostate's name.

Hawke snorted indelicately, pushing up her sleeves before digging through her pack for her washcloth and soap. "You'd think the tent was a Circle, the way Anders insists on disparaging it, fleeing it, and casting it down at every opportunity." She threw her towel over her shoulder and knelt to splash water on her face.

Grunting unhappily as he was reminded of the apostate's unyielding vision of mage freedom, Fenris began rolling up his own shirtsleeves. Then he paused, deciding instead to remove the silk shirt entirely.

_She could not have missed seeing my markings last night, _he reasoned,_ and this way my shirt will not get wet. It is not practical to wait for it to dry before packing it away, after all. The other one was still damp last night from when I nearly took a swim in the stream after Hawke's… insightful observation yesterday morning._

Hawke's head turned slightly at the motion of Fenris tugging his shirt over his head and flinging it carelessly aside onto his pack. Blinking furiously, she tried to clear away the droplets of water from her eyes, also stunned at just the sheer sight of him bare to the waist.

_Beneficent Andraste, what have I done to deserve all this? Maker, just… look at him! _She squinted a little._ I could use some better lighting, though, if either of You are listening, please…_

Fenris bent to his ablutions, refusing to feel self-conscious as the sound of Hawke's splashing stopped. _That scruffy, whiny mage knows nothing. I do trust Hawke, more than I have ever trusted anyone. _Scrubbing briskly at his hands and face, trying not to hunch his shoulders or hide behind the bucket, Fenris eventually decided to take her silence as a compliment. Especially after flicking a quick glance in her direction and noticing the way she was biting at her lower lip._ Hmm. No, no one ever looked at me quite like that in Minrathous…_

Hawke abruptly began lathering up her hands and face as Fenris reached for his towel. _Be professional, _she chided herself. _I must be professional. It will be a long enough day without me dawdling and spending the better part of the morning gawking at Fenris's… everything. Maker, none of the shirtless elves down at the docks look even half so solid, though. And he really does not take off the pendant I gave him. What I wouldn't give to be pressed up his chest like that… _

She hastily rinsed her face before her eyes wound up with soap in them from straining to peek at him. _I am glad to see that all that food is being put to fine use, _she thought as she patted her skin dry, still faintly smelling Fenris's scent on her towel._ He looks quite healthy for someone who was on the run until recently. But I suppose if he truly has been putting away all those groceries with his 'warrior's appetite' these past three weeks, it's done him a lot of good. Despite all our running around and fighting everyone in sight._

Lowering her towel to just below her eyes, Hawke considered him as she pretended to continue drying off. She offered up another fervent prayer of thanks to Andraste when she saw he was sitting back on his haunches, just about to put on his tunic. Her view was utterly unimpeded, and Fenris was even obligingly looking to one side as he slid the garment up one outstretched arm.

_Yes, he's quite nicely defined in all the right places without looking too… hard or bulge-y. And not a trace of hair. Well, well. _She tried not to chew her own lip off as she took him in. _A little more slight than a comparable human warrior, but still, ahem, strapping. Not exactly what I am used to with human men, indeed, but he looks absolutely perfect to me. _Feeling a bit lightheaded, Hawke had to force herself to inhale, trying to do so quietly, without gasping._ Yes, I will definitely see to it that he continues to be well-fed. A girl likes a little bit to sink her nails into, and smooth skin to run her hands over… Well, this girl does, at least. _

She gripped her towel tighter, fingers aching to rake down the smooth yet muscular planes of his chest and stomach, then back up along the winding lyrium markings just visible along his sides. She had just gotten around to considering the sinuously curving, intertwined series of chevrons that descended from his neck to his chest when Fenris began doing up the clasps of his tunic, starting at the top.

_And I had almost forgotten about his wondrous hands. Maker, help me — I am officially a lost cause._

Fenris tried to keep from chuckling as she sighed, focusing instead on properly lining up the black closures that studded the green border of his otherwise-black tunic. _She may not have peeked last night, but obviously she is making up for it now. _Though he did not really have difficulty making out the darkly-colored frog clasps in the dim light inside the tent, he _was_ finding it hard to concentrate. _It would not do to have to remove my armor in front of everyone to redo crooked buttons, _he thought wryly to himself. _Though I doubt Hawke would mind. She might even offer to help. I might even let her — she does have very deft fingers…_

"Maker, Fenris," she finally said, tone teasing, if a little strained, "I thought I made it a rule that you couldn't look better than me in my own tent."

He did not look up from fastening the last few frogs. "No… You said perhaps you should — but, as I recall, you never actually did."

Hawke chuckled low in her throat, the sound sultry and appreciative. "Mmm-hmm. I see. Well… Perhaps that was for the best."

Though he chuckled in response and smiled crookedly, Fenris found it suddenly difficult to meet her eye. He put on his belt and reached for the rest of his armor instead, gathering up the tidy pile. "I will step out to finish dressing so you may have the tent to yourself, Hawke."

She very nearly invited him to stay, then thought better of rushing things. _Let him set the pace, Marian. He's already come a long way from storming off over a poorly-worded compliment about his ears just a few days ago. Just enjoy things the way they are for now; you have plenty to think about after that wonderful show. _Her roguish nature fought back, but ultimately practicality won out._ I need to get a move on. Being caught fooling around with Fenris would look… unprofessional._

Looking down to pack away her soap, Hawke responded, "That's very kind, Fenris, thank you." Then she began pulling her own armor out of her travel sack, laying it out beside her as he rose and ducked out the front of the tent.

Just as she undid the top button of her shirt, he poked his head back in. "No… warnings or threats not to peek or come around back and catch you, Hawke?" he teased, tone chiding and expression mock-severe. "You have grown reckless overnight. Need I watch you more closely today? Perhaps I should stay."

_Truly I am the one being reckless_, Fenris chided himself, unable to suppress his fine morning mood around her once again._ If she agrees, it could well be my undoing. I do not know why I torment myself this way, but I enjoy flustering her a bit. So far my control has not slipped. _Then he recalled that it was yet before breakfast.

_Watch me __**more**__ closely, hmm? _Hawke remained frozen for a few moments, then fixed him with an upraised eyebrow and sly smile. "Perhaps… I do tend to get reckless when I am tired."

_Perhaps? _he thought._ Is that an invitation or not? _"Hmmm…"

She had to squint a little to make out Fenris's expectant expression. He continued watching her, tent flaps held closed around his elegant, long neck. She cocked her head at him, letting her expression turn slightly confused and suspicious. "But need I threaten you? You keep telling me not to worry and to trust you, Fenris. Should I _not_?"

_She has me there. Too cunning by half. _As usual, his face went utterly blank, only the mock-serious tone in his voice giving away his teasing. "Well, that is entirely up to you. Your tent, your rules, Hawke."

_Actually, it is entirely up to you, Fenris. _She very deliberately began unbuttoning her second button, though she knew it wouldn't be very revealing. "We _are_ both adults, Fenris, so we should hardly be in need of too many rules…"

Feeling an alarming tightening in his mind — and elsewhere — Fenris quickly decided to retreat. _Venhedis. It would seem that I have overreached. I… need time to consider this. _

She couldn't help but smirk as he began to withdraw. "Unless you think you cannot control yourself otherwise?" _I will take it as a compliment that I fluster him so._

One eye blinked at her through a slit of tent canvas, reply muffled by the cloth. "You would be surprised at the amount of restraint required for a warrior such as myself."

Suddenly growing hesitant, Hawke paused in the act of undoing her third button, which would have been enough to start putting on a bit of a show for him. Fenris's tone was serious, nearly the same as before, but it had lost some of its playful edge, which worried her. _The way his markings came alight last night — twice in fact — and his aversion to being touched… Maker, I did not mean him to take my words like that._

_I was too wrapped up and tired to fully consider it, but of course that all must have taken a toll on him. He was obviously uncomfortable while enduring it, while trying to overcome his reluctance. Fenris has been very good to me, letting me stay with him, __coming on the expedition, _ putting up with me. And he is so polite, witty, and brave… Yet here I've gone and thoughtlessly mocked him again.

She drew her shirt closed, clasping her hands together as she looked away, ashamed of her thoughtless comment. "Of course, Fenris. I can only imagine… I did not mean to suggest… That is to say, I'm sor…"

"Bah. Dress yourself, woman, before I come in there and do it for you. I _starve._" _This is not her doing. These are my own problems. It is bad enough that I cannot escape my past — one of us should remain optimistic._

Hawke's head snapped up in surprise as Fenris cut off her rambling apology, but the tent flaps had already closed. He sighed dramatically, loud enough for her to hear through the thick canvas and emphasizing his hunger, she guessed. Then she could just make out the outline of him putting on his chestplate and pauldrons.

_Perhaps he just did not wish to talk about it_, she thought. She moved quickly to shrug out of her clothes and into her armor, deciding to make it up to him instead by getting them to breakfast as swiftly as she could manage.

Fenris busied himself with the leather straps at his elbows and wrists, back resolutely to the tent. _She refused to let me apologize last night. I can certainly refuse to let her_, he decided. _It was all meant in jest — it is not her fault if she has timely aim. She is a very skilled rogue, after all… she could hardly assassinate people if she did not innately go for the heart._

He sourly eyed his markings as he tightened the straps on his other arm, thinking back on how he had been struggling with his new emotions since leaving Kirkwall. The uncontrolled flares of his lyrium talent deeply disturbed him. _No, the more time I spend with her and the closer we get, the harder it becomes to control myself. When we touch… it is unlike anything I have ever known. I have few memories but pain, and certainly none to compare to this. Little wonder that I do not know what to do, how to… deal with this._

While flexing and stretching both arms to test that the straps were snug, Fenris considered his options, immediately discarding his usual tactic of withdrawing. _Hawke needs me, and there is nowhere to go in any case. But my 'solitary pursuit' is having the opposite effect with her always so near. And I am unable to simply contain my emotions any longer. _

He knew his lyrium markings were tied closely to his emotions, so he turned the problem around, examining it from the other angle. _Then, perhaps… I should use my lyrium talent more, not less. It was the reason Danarius used to 'coddle' me so, so I would be properly fueled to use it whenever he wished it. _His faced darkened at thoughts of his former master's brutally painful idea of motivation.

The sound of Hawke's humming from inside the tent helped shift his mind back to the present. _No doubt I have plenty of fuel now. Obtained in mostly pleasant ways, though the uncontrollable flares are… unsettling. Hmm, no, I have avoided using my markings like that since leaving Seheron, but… perhaps it is time to change that. _He brushed himself off, then dusted rock grit off one foot to pull on a gaiter.

_Danarius commanded me to use it so often that I have shunned it. It is draining, though — but so is struggling against this… tumult inside me. Besides, it may keep me from incurring as many injuries, which would mean less healing from that scruffy… mage._

By the time Hawke emerged from the tent, fully dressed, brushing her hair, and dragging her pack behind her, Fenris had resolved to fully utilize his markings and practice mastering them rather than continuing in his attempt to always suppress them.

_No, it clearly is not working so far,_ he observed, taking in the sight of Hawke looking fetching and fresh-faced. Already feeling the familiar knot of mixed emotions tighten as he realized they were alone in their corner of camp, Fenris quickly fled, ducking back into the tent to comb his hair and retrieve his own pack.

"Do I look presentable?" Hawke asked, bending over to tuck away her brush before turning to Fenris with outstretched arms. "I'm trying to look professional. Nice, yet not too… _girly_. Adventurous, yet cautious. Daring, but not… reckless." She spun slowly, looking down at herself. "The first day on a job is easy, since everyone is excited. It's the second day when you really need to be on your toes, so people don't step all over you." _Thank you for that hard lesson, Athenril…_

Fenris considered her reflection in his shard of mirrored glass, watching her from before she even began to speak. _Has she done anything different? Still just as beautiful as ever, though perhaps her armor does look a little more polished. It seems to be wearing in… nicely. It certainly still fits her quite… well._

Motions controlled and calm despite the view, Fenris's hand never stopped pulling his comb through his hair, which was surprisingly untangled and smooth after Hawke's earlier ministrations. "You look fine, Hawke. And it is an admirable goal. No doubt you will do well today."

His gaze met hers in the mirror's reflection and Hawke smiled. "Yes, well, I have been trying to practice more caution and control… and I _have_ been closely studying the best." She gestured at Fenris's back, smile deepening. _Perhaps that will smooth over my earlier misstep._

_She pays me such compliments, _he thought, chest swelling a little from her confidence in him._ Perhaps my own close study of her is why my flattery has improved so quickly. _Reluctantly shifting his gaze away from her in the mirror, Fenris gave his appearance one last cursory glance and decided he was presentable enough. He stowed the last of his things and hoisted his pack onto his shoulder, leaning down to retrieve both buckets before turning to exit the now-empty tent.

"So, _that_ is why you were staring at me earlier," he mused solemnly. He set the buckets down beside Bodahn's cart before placing his pack into the bed of the wagon. "You were _studying_. I admit, I had thought something else drew your attention…"

Hawke hid her furious blush as she bent to pick up both bedrolls and place them into the other cart. She had to clear her throat before she could properly threaten him, pitching her voice over her shoulder as hoisted their bedrolls over the wagon's railing. "Do not force my hand, Fenris, or I will make so many rules for our tent that even Aveline would be hard pressed to enforce them all."

Then she nearly collapsed, clinging to the side of the cart as both her legs traitorously tried to fold under her. With both hands grasping the cart to keep from falling, Hawke could not clap a hand over her mouth to suppress the embarrassingly girlish giggle that echoed around the cavern. She whirled to face a chuckling Fenris, who was already holding out his feathered vambraces for her to carry.

She snatched them away. "You did not seem to mind me forcing your hand last night, Hawke," he observed wryly, unable to help himself. _Perhaps her recklessness is rubbing off on me as well. I am having a very trying time of it resisting her this morning, despite myself. _

Hawke made a very good attempt at scowling menacingly and Fenris felt his eyebrow creeping up, but her vehemence was diminished somewhat by the sight of her left, booted foot drawing up hastily to rub at the back of her right knee. He smiled to himself at her predictable mannerisms.

Still, out of caution for her dangerous look and his own tentative hold on himself, Fenris retreated all the way back around Bodahn's wagon as he went to retrieve his sword, giving Hawke a wide berth.

Tone accusatory, she finally recovered from her fluster enough to speak. "You said yesterday that was an _accident_!" She shifted to hold the vambraces in one arm as she was forced to reach down and scratch behind her knees. _He has no right to move so quietly. Shouldn't his armor make noise? Crazy Tevinter armorers, making such fetching, silent, tight armor — then adding feathers to it._

"That was yesterday. Today is a new day," he explained evenly. "Not that one would know it down here."

Hawke shot him a long-suffering but amused look, head slowly shaking from side to side as she fought not to smile.

_I wonder if she is ticklish elsewhere… _Then, fighting a particularly strong wave of fondness and desire, Fenris turned away to do a few warm-up swings and thrusts with his heavy sword. _For once,_ _I would welcome a chance at battle._ _I need something to expend this… restless energy on._ The familiar rhythms of his practice combat helped calm him, and eventually he hooked the large sword onto his back.

Turning back to Hawke, he noted that she still stood near the cart watching him and looking rather dazed. Unable to resist, he pulled a mock-solicitous expression. "Shall I put your pack into the cart while you… compose yourself?" _I may not have a grasp on myself, _he thought, scraping together his own composure, _but no one can ever accuse me of not having a grasp on irony…_

Hawke pursed her lips but found it difficult not to smile at him. _Very witty. Any lack of my composure is entirely your fault, Fenris, as you and I well know — though we both dance around it. _

She let her tone sound a little testy, channeling the irritation she still felt behind her knees into her tone. "All right, yes… _please_. Also, _you_ get to carry the buckets." Then, smirking, she waggled his vambraces at him, one held in each hand. "And these? These you do not get back until after breakfast. I cannot look _professional, _Fenris_,_ if I am in a laughing heap on the floor."

He shrugged unconcernedly, leaning down with one long arm extended to snag her pack straps. "I suppose part of maintaining control is carefully guarding something that could make you lose it. Carry whatever you wish for as long as you wish, then."

Hawke let her gaze trail down his arm, remembering how beautiful the sight of his lighted lyrium markings were last night. _If only I hadn't been so sodding tired. _She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. _Sod it all, Bartrand…_

Fenris was waiting for her with a bucket in each hand when her eyes opened. "Come then, Hawke. We can pack away the tent after we eat."

Hawke nodded, stepping carefully over the two ropes that still kept her side of the tent secured to the cart wheels. She caught up to walk beside him, studiously avoiding lagging behind, lest he catch her admiring his rear in addition to him already having noticed the way she'd ogled his bare chest and his sword swings. _Hmm, I just may turn into a morning person after all, with the sight of him around to brighten the start of each day…_

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, glancing up to study his handsome, elven profile.

Fenris's brow creased a little. "I… I did," he said, sounding somewhat surprised. _For all my unsettled thoughts and the discomforts of this wretched, best-forgotten, underground place, I feel… quite well, actually. _He glanced over at Hawke, whom he knew was the cause of the former and suspected was the remedy for the latter. "And yourself?"

_The only way I could have slept better would have been in your arms. _She shrugged, trying not to blush or look bashful. "Yes, I suppose. I was very… cozy. I certainly would still be abed if not for Bartrand's sweet warbling." After stealing a glance at Fenris and seeing he looked pleased, Hawke looked up at the ceiling, screwing her face up in thoughtfulness.

"Maker only knows what time it is. Definitely feels too early, but who can tell down here?" She paused when they reached the far, abandoned corner as Fenris went to pour out the buckets. Crossing her arms and turning to look over at their destination, she surveyed the bustling mess tent.

Hawke sighed, watching curls of steam drift up from the wide tent door. "This is all so strange. Dwarves may be cut out for living underground, but not I."

She could almost feel the weight of the rocks above pressing down on her, wishing instead for the feel of open skies and sunshine. The dimly reflected light of campfires and torches made her squint, and the faint smell of porridge, fires, and hirelings mingled with the ambient scents of the Deep Roads, further heightened the odd feel of the unchanging underground cavern in which she found herself that morning. _Everything about this place is uninviting, hard, and unyielding._

"None of this feels routine yet, but I suppose it eventually will." Hawke began brushing the feathers of one of Fenris's vambraces against her lips as she contemplated, and suddenly his own scent was strongly and pleasantly added to the melange.

"That has been my experience, Hawke." Fenris did not flinch when she started a little, apparently not having heard him approach. He tucked a lock of her hair back into place for her, though he was careful not to touch her ear, afraid of triggering his markings. "Given enough time, one can get used to almost anything." _I want to believe that. I want to believe I will get used to feeling like this, that eventually I will not have to always hold back._

Hawke turned to look at him, uncrossing her arms, but Fenris was already looking down and shifting to hold a bucket in each hand again. _So quiet. So insightful. So determined. _Feeling a wave of fondness for him, she realized with a small measure of sadness that both their hands were full. Running her thumbs absentmindedly over the warming metal of his vambraces, she sighed.

_It is probably for the best. It would not do to be seen hand in hand like giddy young lovers. Hardly professional. Though we are also hardly lovers… What __**are**__ we, for that matter? I know what I'd like us to be, but… _She hastily pushed the distracting thoughts away, trying to focus on what he'd said.

"That thought isn't half so comforting as it seems on the surface," she replied quietly, applying Fenris's words to his own circumstances, imagining all the terrible things that he doubtless had come to regard as routine in his hard life. _Pain. Cruelty. Slavery. Fear. Then running, fighting to remain free, being alone, having no one to rely on but himself._

"Was that some sort of… pun?" he asked slowly. Hawke gave him a quizzical glance, so he glanced at the cavern ceiling, repeating, "'On the surface'?"

Hawke laughed heartily at the contrast between her dark thoughts and his teasing, shaking her head as she flicked her own eyes up in resignation. "Oh Fenris, perhaps if it wasn't so early, I would have intentionally made that joke. But no, unlike yours, my mind does not seem to work half so cleverly until near noon."

"I shall watch you closely until lunchtime at least, then," he promised, a small smile playing about his lips. Hawke gave him a look of fond amusement, though his expression sobered. "But I did not mean my words to unsettle you. We are not always free to do as we wish, but at least this gets you closer to your goal. I find that can make quite a difference."

_This struggle is worth it. That I already believe. If using my markings in battle does not work, then I will find some other way. _Fenris found quiet resolve in thinking of his plan, even if he could not directly think of his own goal without his calm slipping.

Hawke stayed silent as she absorbed what he said. It was not difficult for once, for she found she did not want to speak. Instead, she wanted to step in front of him and stop him, to show him what his reassurances and presence meant to her. She wanted to caress his face, run her fingers through his hair, make him drop the pair of buckets and wrap him in a warm embrace, then kiss him as her lips so ached to do after feeling the soft strokes of his thumb.

Torn between her desires to go to him and to let him come to her, she focused on remembering the feel of his lips pressed against her own thumb, his mouth brushing along her elbow, the stirring of his breath on her face as she touched him. She was almost grateful when her memories stole the air from her lungs, making it uncharacteristically easy to remain quiet and restrained.

_I love him_, she thought again and again with each step, feeling the words rolling around on her tongue, wanting to spill out as if she herself was a bucket waiting for him to tip her on edge. _But he is right. I need to give him time to get used to all this. I may not be free to do everything I would wish to do with him, but it is progress. It is something. And it does make a difference, especially knowing that he wants to get used to it._

Wordlessly, they split apart as they reached the mess tent, Fenris going to stack the buckets and she heading to procure their breakfast.

"Good morning, my friend!" Bodahn greeted, smiling at Hawke. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of putting your bowls on a tray. I thought it would make it easier for you to carry."

"Oh, aren't you thoughtful and thorough, Bodahn! Bartrand doesn't pay you enough." The dwarf chuckled, and she leaned over to wave at his son. "And good morning!"

Bodahn pulled a round tray with four steaming bowls of porridge already on it from a side table, offering it up to her. "For you and your ah… friend. You have both been so very kind to my boy. He keeps going on about pies…"

"Mmmm," Sandal said in agreement.

Hawke laughed, taking the tray and balancing it deftly on one hand. Bodahn continued, inclining his head to Fenris as he approached, expression a little apologetic. "And messere Fenris has been so patient with Sandal, despite my boy's… eh, fascination with him. If there's ever anything either of you need, do not hesitate to ask."

Glancing at Fenris and seeing his face rather blank, Hawke decided to take the initiative. "Perhaps you could save us a little extra of that delicious flatbread you make at dinner?" She gave the dwarf her best smile.

Bodahn beamed, shaking a finger in the air. "Oh, aye, aye! Of course, and I'm glad to hear you like it! It's an old Feddic family recipe."

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked hopefully, pausing in stirring the cauldron of porridge.

Bodahn smiled fondly at the lad over his shoulder before turning back to Hawke and Fenris. "Yes, indeed, and naturally Sandal would be only too happy to enchant anything you'd like, if you have any runes." The merchant-cook leaned in, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "The runes he makes himself are a little… potent, sometimes."

"Boom!" Sandal agreed, bobbing a little.

Hawke winked at Bodahn and nodded, leaning around to give his grown boy a broad smile. "When I find any runes, I will definitely bring them to you for enchantment, Sandal, I promise."

He clapped his hands happily, losing his stirring spoon in the deep pot of porridge. Bodahn sighed, digging under his table for a moment before drawing out another one. "My apologies, but if you'll excuse me, friends…"

Hawke led Fenris to the table where their two companions were just starting to tuck into their own breakfasts.

"Excellent! You are just in time," said Varric, turning to them and launching straight into his latest joke. "So a human, an elf, and a dwarf walk into a bar…" He pointed a spoon at both of them in turn, then himself.

Hawke began chuckling as she set down the tray and took her seat on the bench, but Fenris remained standing, eying Varric suspiciously. _Where is this going? Nowhere good, I suspect…_

Anders chimed in blandly without even looking up from his bowl. "The human says, 'You're lucky you're so short. That hurt like mad...'"

Varric, hands still held in the air, closed his mouth and turned a flat stare on the apostate. "You could have just stopped me, Blondie."

"Why waste a perfectly good set-up?" he asked with a shrug.

Fenris finally took his seat, sighing to himself and sitting about as far away from Anders as he could get on the bench they were forced to share. _Ah. More of the dwarf's… jokes… and a poor one, at that._

"So, did Bartrand have anything interesting to shout at you this morning, Varric, or was it just more of the same?" asked Hawke, uprighting two tumblers as Fenris reached for a tall, sturdy, wooden teapot that sat in the center of their table.

Varric sighed, scratching in frustration at the small tail of hair that was fastened at the back of his head. "Uh… about that. We're going to have company today. He's sending forward his own Deep Roads scouts to navigate through the passages, so we'll have to keep an eye on them." He inclined his head toward a table of rather quiet dwarven hirelings, all quite dangerous-looking with their shaven heads, daggers strapped to their backs, and steely, unyielding faces covered in dark tattoos.

Fenris glanced over at them, sharp gaze taking in the dwarves' hard, shifty eyes, quick hands, and furtive, conspiratorial whispering. _Smugglers, I'd wager._

Hawke turned back to Varric. "They don't really look like they belong to some kind of Dwarven Navigators' Guild…"

Varric barked a laugh. "Hah! No. They are Carta, of course. We wouldn't have been able to make it to the Deep Roads entrance without being waylaid if we didn't agree to bring at least some of their people along for a cut." He shook his head ruefully, but his face was unconcerned. "The Carta does a lot of smuggling into and out of Orzammar, so their scouts know the Deep Roads like nobody's business. Dwarves have pretty good stone-sense as it is, but those guys? They are some of the best — if somewhat… less than savory company."

Hawke nodded in understanding, familiar as she was with Athenril's smuggling gang. As she thought about the cliquish, unfriendly elves she'd been forced to work with during her year of indentured servitude, she added a drizzle of honey to her tea and her porridge before handing the pot to Fenris. Though his expression was neutral, she could not help but notice how his fingers rather deliberately slid against hers as he took the honeypot from her. _No, I much prefer my present elven company._

Seeing the way she smiled to herself and not realizing it was from Fenris's touch, Varric observed, "I had thought for sure you'd be unhappy with the news, Hawke, since I know how much you hate dealing with smugglers, after Athenril. But, I see you're smiling!" He chuckled in relief. "Maker be praised! Well, that's something at least."

Giving up on hiding her happiness, she turned to grin at the younger Tethras brother. "It can't hurt to stay optimistic, Varric. Besides, having someone else directing the way saves us from getting yelled at if we all get lost, right?" He grunted in consternation at the reminder of his elder brother, and Hawke affectionately patted him on the back.

"True. The less yelling the better," Varric finally agreed. Then he thrust his chin at Anders. "Psst, hey, Blondie. Got any spells that could, I dunno… maybe make Bartrand lose his voice?"

Anders head whipped up, expression appalled. "What? No! I am a healer, not some kind of… evil wizard."

Fenris made a dissenting noise as he leaned down to devour his second bowl of porridge, but otherwise did not comment on the conversation.

"I just meant for a few hours or something, geez. Don't get your feathered pauldrons all in a fluff." Frowning again, Varric pulled out his little notebook, scribbling something into it.

Hawke leaned over, quickly swallowing her bite of porridge. "What are you writing now?"

"Just a new line for my epic poem. It just… _came_ to me." He shot Anders a look before reading from his notebook. "'His healing of men was forgot through the ages; instead they recalled him most whiny of mages.'"

All heads turned when an uncharacteristically mirthful, low chuckle came from Fenris's corner of the table, but it faded almost as soon as it had begun.

"I did not know you were a poet as well," he said seriously, turning his head away from his bowl just enough to regard Varric from the opposite corner of the table.

"There is a lot you don't know about me," the dwarf retorted airily, repeating Fenris's own words from yesterday's breakfast back at him.

Turning back to his meal, Fenris laughed again — softly, but from deep within his chest.

_What an unexpectedly marvelous start to my day,_ Hawke thought with a delighted smile for both of them. She leaned across the table to Fenris, smirking conspiratorially when he glanced up at her. "Varric is writing a poem about a moody rebel mage who is fighting futility against forces he cannot possibly defeat."

"A hopelessly romantic apostate waging an epic struggle," Varric clarified. "Hey, you're from Tevinter, elf. Maybe you can give me notes on my _unspecified_ hero's folly. Not that I think you have any strong feelings on the subject, of course."

Fenris looked from Varric to Hawke and back again with one quirked eyebrow. All of them pointedly avoiding looking at Anders, whose arms were now crossed, feathered pauldrons looking decidedly fluffed.

"I could… think on it," Fenris said carefully before turning back to his breakfast, voice just neutral enough to leave himself the option of declining later.

_Some of this dwarf's jokes are funnier than others. No, he is perhaps not so bad. And it might be satisfying to hear the mage set down in rhyming verse. Even if it is poorly-written verse. That in and of itself is… poetic justice? _He smiled at his clever pun. _Yes, Hawke is definitely starting to rub off on me._

Terribly amused with the conversation, Hawke tried to muffle a snort behind her hand, shrugging apologetically at Anders when he turned his scowl on her.

He threw down his napkin and stood, draining his tea in one swift gulp. "_I_ will be in my _tent_," he stated before stalking off.

"But it collapsed!" Hawke called after him, shaking her head at his back when he didn't stop. "Maker, so touchy since we left Kirkwall. He really does _not_ like the Deep Roads."

"There are a number of things Blondie isn't too happy about," Varric muttered under his breath.

Fenris shifted over to sit more comfortably on the now-empty bench, proclaiming sagely, "A Warden Grey indeed was he, tainted heart and dooméd face plainly dark for all to see…"

Varric straightened, holding up a finger as he snatched up his nubby pencil to scribble furiously. Hawke gave Fenris an appraising look. He just blinked back at her, face kept carefully impassive.

"I don't know if I should be encouraging this or not," she said slowly, slanting her twinkling eyes at him, "but I almost want to hear more. I knew you had a way with words, Fenris, but I never pegged you as a poet."

He shrugged and lowered his head to resume eating, suddenly concerned the topic might turn towards reading or writing. "You think of many things to occupy yourself when you spend enough time alone."

After a long, pregnant pause, Hawke nodded soberly, and they all went back to eating in silence for a time — though Varric kept pausing to scribble in his notebook between bites.

_In the past three weeks, she has given me more than enough to think about and occupy my time — for several years at least, _Fenris thought wryly. _I've hardly had time to practice anything, except flattery. And, well, other… pleasurable, solitary pursuits._ He studiously kept his face over his porridge bowl as he felt his cheeks flush with heat.

Fenris had not bothered with his mental poetic word diversion in some time, having been too occupied over the past weeks with escorting Anso, spying on the hunters and foiling Danarius, and then working with Hawke. Before, however, during the long days and nights he spent hiding or traveling alone, he had turned to practicing things, fortifying all his skills — including his linguistic ones.

He'd been content to be alone, after spending so much time under the thumb of Danarius and Hadriana, forced to escort and serve the magister, his favorite apprentice, and a never-ending parade of haughty, illustrious guests. But after escaping the constant, never-ending labor of being a slave, Fenris had been suddenly left with a lot of free time and a deep reserve of energy — both of which he decided it only appropriate to devote to himself.

The fact that he often grew bored hiding in stables, escorting merchant caravans, and traveling the most abandoned routes he could find also urged him on. Furthermore, it had taken all his strength, fortitude, wit, luck, and ingenuity to evade Danarius's hunters for three years, even as he gradually improved his abilities. _Strangely enough, a fugitive slave has many reasons to be creative, _he thought dryly.

He had hoped thinking up verses would be a efficient way to hone his mastery of languages; finding rhymes helped with pronunciation, subtly manipulating connotations acquainted him with the meanings of words, and carefully choosing his words for maximum effect would make him seem more eloquent and worldly. The idea had come from the Fog Warriors, who had taught him of the Qunari, including much of the Qun. The words of Koslun and the Qun were very lyrical and, as a result, learning the qunari language had come easily to Fenris over the few months he had spent in the jungles with the rebels.

Applying that principle to the other languages he knew had seemed like a practical idea. By improving his fluency, Fenris had hoped it would help him blend in better — but regardless of how he sounded, few people seemed able to overlook that he was a stranger, an elf, or see past his strange markings. _Hawke is a rare woman indeed._

He glanced up at her, mind already beginning to whirl with appropriately poetic imagery and verses. However, he could not think of anything suitable to say — not with Varric listening in.

_Perhaps later… when we are alone. And when I am more in control. _Fenris shifted cockily on the bench, confident he would indeed need to be prepared for the eventuality. _I have seen women become undone at verses spoken by minstrels, and it would not do for me to have to turn down… an opportunity from Hawke. _Then, again, he felt heat rise to his cheeks, feeling a little more undone himself.

As the trio of companions quietly finished their meal, a group of whispering hirelings shuffled past on their way to begin loading the wagons after finishing their own breakfasts. Unaware of Fenris's keen hearing and eyesight, they were rather unsuccessful in their attempt to covertly observe him and Hawke.

"_Him,_" one of them whispered. "He's bigga'!"

"No way. _She's_ _spirited_," another hissed back. "It'll be her, mark my words_._"

"Lucky bastard either way, inn't he?" The two men ribbed each other, snickering quietly.

A third hireling behind the debaters smacked the backs of both their heads. "It don't matter. You ain't gonna find out. An' if they hear you, you ain't gonna live long, neither!"

_I do not even wish to know,_ Fenris thought with a resigned sigh. He stacked his final empty bowl with the rest and drained his tea.

"We should go pack up our tent," Hawke said quietly, pushing her own empty bowl away and noting the look of consternation on his face._ I hope I didn't start him brooding again. It will be a very long day if he and Anders both are in bad moods. Even Varric doesn't seem terribly cheerful, not that I blame him. A brother like Bartrand makes Carver seem like a saint._

"Yeah, better get a move on. Unless you _like_ hearing your name echoing off the stone," grumbled Varric, hopping off the bench. "See you when it's time to move out." He headed off to speak with the cluster of seedy Carta dwarves.

While trying to think of a way to cheer Fenris up, Hawke busied herself gathering all the dishes at their table, placing them onto the tray. "That should help Sandal clear up our prodigious mess." Picking up Fenris's gauntlets, she swung her legs over the bench to stand.

"You seem very fond of that… odd dwarf," he observed curiously. He stood and retrieved his sword from where he had stowed it beneath the bench.

"Sandal is too adorable, and his father is very friendly and helpful," she said with a shrug. "They are certainly the nicest dwarves along on this expedition, aside from Varric, of course."

Hooking his sword on his back, Fenris gave a skeptical, "Hmm," though he could not really argue with the assessment. Then he blinked as Hawke stepped close and peered up at his face with a chuckle.

"One moment. You have a smudge, Fenris." She turned to retrieve a napkin from the table, then realized she had buried them all underneath their pile of dishes.

Fenris rolled his eyes as he realized he had forgotten to wipe his face. His eyes then remained firmly on the ceiling as Hawke reached up with her thumb to brush aside a lone groat of porridge from his cheek _This is her fault_, he thought willfully. _I do not seem to have this problem around anyone but her._ He also resolutely believed that any heat he felt on his cheeks was from the warmth of her fingers.

She fondly said, "There you are, right as rain," giving his face a few extra strokes that weren't strictly necessary. He sighed heavily and began to fidget, so Hawke finally relented.

Fenris gestured at her hand when she pulled away, concern creasing his features as he suddenly remembered the mishap he'd unintentionally caused her yesterday. "Has your thumb healed well? Will you need… Anders?"

_He almost sounds jealous of Anders again, _she thought with amused confusion. Then she realized he probably just did not like the thought of her needing healing or magic. "I don't think I will, no," she said with a chuckle. "It looks fine this morning, and my elbow has been fine since last night. But how is your finger?"

Fenris looked at the fingertip that had been healed by Anders, though the nail would be a little too short for comfort for a while. But it was the memory of Hawke's lips that he thought of foremost, wishing he could feel them elsewhere though he knew he couldn't. Yet. "Nothing that I can't live with for a little while longer…" _Once I can control my lyrium talent under her touch…_

She smirked, leaning in even closer. "Anything I can do? Never underestimate healing powers of elfroot… or a kiss." Her smirk deepened when Fenris looked away to cough and clear his throat. _All right, Fenris, I will behave and try not to fluster you in public — though you are exceedingly cute when you blush and look away like that._

"Ahem. A tempting offer, but…" _But I do not wish to lose control of myself with you again. Festis bei umo canavarum… _Looking in the opposite direction, he gestured only vaguely in the direction of their camp. "Let us attend to the tent. Doubtless we will be getting underway soon." _Besides, we have spent far too much time here already. The others will talk, and it will not do either of our reputations any good to be seen as being… cuddly._

"Oh, of course," she replied with mock-seriousness, rather pleased with herself for shaking him out of his brooding and actually making a bit of color rise to his cheeks.

Hawke led the way, trying to look professional though she longed to walk with an extra swagger. She knew Fenris would be watching closely, but she also knew all the hirelings who were now loading the wagons would be watching even more closely. _Hmm, I suppose I won't be able to get him completely alone until we get back to Kirkwall. But by then, we will likely have made a little more… progress. _

Thinking suddenly of the even more profound lack of privacy at her uncle's house, Hawke frowned for a moment. But almost immediately, she could feel the beginnings of a cunning plan taking shape. She smiled slyly to herself as they approached their tent, which was in the center of a parade of hirelings loading the carts. _If Fenris proves to be receptive, well… Maker help him — and anyone who stands in my way — once this expedition is over._

As Fenris ducked inside the tent to remove the poles, he noticed the almost predatory look on Hawke's face. She had glanced over to regard him as he entered, waiting for him before she undid the tent ropes. He felt himself swallowing hard as her rather sultry gaze turned fully on him. _As tired as she claimed to be this morning, she seems quite… eager, now, _he noted.

The ropes for the tent slackened one by one. Fenris deftly removed each pole and slid it out the collapsing entrance, holding the canvas up with a hand to keep from mussing his hair. _I do not know if I can take Hawke running her fingers through it again — not just yet. _

He and Hawke worked swiftly to strike their tent, the process going much faster than pitching it had gone, despite Fenris's many distracting thoughts.

As he worked, Fenris reaffirmed his plan to use his lyrium markings should any battles ensue while they scouted ahead. He was further encouraged by the fact that it already seemed easier to hold his swirling, knotted emotions at bay — just the thought that he would permit himself to spend the abundant fuel that Hawke seemed to generate in his mind eased the pressure of holding it all back.

_I should not look forward to facing darkspawn, but if I do not find some outlet for this soon, I may have to distance myself from Hawke again for her own protection. _For a change, he found he would not welcome the solitude.

Fenris took a final deep breath before exiting the dismantled tent, both to ease his mind and to memorize the soothing scent one last time. Both Hawke's new, Orlesian soap, and his own soap, which used to be hers, plus the smell of summer grass all clung to the canvas. He hoped that it would remain so despite the strong odor of the Deep Roads. But he fixed the memory in his mind and savored it, just in case.

He even took extra care in folding the tent with Hawke, temporarily eschewing his rebellious tendency towards sloppiness. _There are few things I take the time to do properly. Seeing to my weapon, tending my armor, bathing, keeping my bed clean and comfortable… _Fenris neatly stacked the poles together before rolling the canvas tightly and evenly towards Hawke, who waited with outstretched arms to finish bundling it up. Then he helped her bind it securely with the ropes so it could be packed away into the cart.

_This, _he thought as he easily hoisted the tidy armful that had already become a small haven to him, _this is worth the effort of seeing to properly. _Fenris placed it in the back of the cart next to his and Hawke's bedrolls, smiling slightly to himself with the feeling of a job well done. He realized he even looked forward to the task of putting it back up.

_Tonight,_ he thought, the word heartening him as he untucked his gloves from his belt. _It will be a long expedition, but the nights, at least, seem to go quickly. _He momentarily absolved the Deep Roads of its oppressive and unyielding atmosphere at sight of Hawke approaching with his vambraces.

"Almost ready to go?" she asked with a smile, looking down to unlatch them, readying them for him.

"Yes, almost." He leaned up against the cart languidly, determined to enjoy one last quiet, peaceful moment before they had to begin the day's work. But as he pulled on his gloves, his heart began to pound strongly at the sight of Hawke's lowered eyes and downturned face. _She is rare woman, and a beautiful one at that, _he thought heatedly._ I do not know what I have done to deserve such attentiveness from her, but I will not turn it aside._

Then she began to inspect and explore his vambraces, stroking her fingers along the padded interior of his right one, the leather worn smooth and molded to the shape of his forearm by years of almost daily use. Her fingertips seemed to windingly caress the length of where his inner arm would rest, almost drawing the pattern of his lyrium markings there.

Indeed, when he turned his hand palm up to clasp his glove in place, his keen eyes saw that she traced them almost perfectly. His mouth began to dry as he envisioned her fingertips trailing along his arm instead, her remarkably deft, smooth, and delicate fingers so perfectly suited for not just wielding daggers, picking locks, and disarming traps, but also touching him, stroking his cheek, and grazing along his ears.

Without heed for the hirelings that moved around, leaving the pair of them a wide circle of unencroached space while still obliquely eying them, Fenris extended his gloved, right hand to her, lightly resting it on her waist. _Her lowered eyes, those hesitant lips, her touch as soft as flower petals…_

Without raising her face, Hawke's head turned to regard his hand, lips curving up into a fond smile. She shifted to pin his left vambrace at her side, then reached down to place his right on his forearm, gently settling it into place before slowly closing it shut. Her hands encircled where it cinched at his wrist, sliding up the widening metal piece of armor to the top, ensuring it was snuggly clasped.

It was all much the same way he knew she had seen him put on his vambraces any number of times, but Fenris found the experience wholly different with her performing it.

He placed his other hand on her waist, holding her more firmly and barely resisted the urge to pull her towards him. Hawke took her time, fondling the padding of his left vambrace much the same as the other, all without looking up at him. He found himself regarding her dazedly, eyes flicking from her downturned face to her hands, then back, unable to decide which sight he found more appealing.

Hawke paused in warming the cool leather padding with her strokes and tugged at the corner of the red handkerchief she'd lent him, pulling it free from where it was tucked at the top of the vambrace. She stuffed it into a pouch at the side of her belt, and Fenris could feel her shifting beneath his fingers, just like when he held her steady in the oak tree. Unlike then, she was facing him and he held her with both hands, yet he still had the distinct feeling that if he was not very careful, they could both fall a very long way indeed.

The swirl of emotions in Fenris's mind contracted sharply then, and he had to close his eyes and concentrate hard on blocking the tight core from unintentionally shooting out along the lyrium pathways. His ears began to quietly hum. _Let her go, little wolf… _

_No,_ he thought, stubbornly pushing back against the tide of jumbled thoughts, memories, and desires. He held it at bay by sheer force of will, opening his eyes to watch her once more.

Hawke was reaching between her leather cuirass and underpadding, deft, slender fingers plucking out a fresh handkerchief from somewhere just above her left breast. As she tucked the square of cloth behind the padding of his vambrace where the old one had been, Fenris could smell her soap strongly, the scent wafting up from the cloth warmed by her body heat.

She finally moved to settle his left vambrace on his forearm, giving as much gentle care and close attention to it as she had the other. As she slid her hands up its length, Hawke finally glanced up into his eyes, looking more than a little bashful. But Fenris also still could make out the hint of her earlier sultry expression, too, and once more felt rather undone by it.

"Fragrance sweet and touch so soft, no flower ever bloomed so rare. Your kind heart seems boundless to me — I've known none other to compare."

The couplet spilled ardently from his lips before he had a chance to stop himself, and Fenris blinked as he heard it, almost as if someone else had spoken.

Hawke's smile deepened, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Too clever by half for this early in the day, Fenris. But… 'bound less'? I should think 'bound more.'" Though her tone was teasing, she still bit her lower lip shyly at the hint. _He is too insightful not to understand that. Maker, what a morning._

He blinked again, thinking with some difficulty to replace her phrasing into the verse, so roiled were his thoughts. _Her kind heart seems bound more to me…_

He felt his arms slowly draw her forward, and Hawke's hands released his vambrace to press against his chestplate. Even as she leaned in closer and her beautiful face slowly filled his vision, Fenris heard and felt the growing, urgent hum of his markings. They started to light, her sweet confession and the desire to kiss her too much for him to bear. _No, not here! I must stop this! _

_Let her go, little wolf…_ Abruptly, Fenris released her, sliding away alongside the cart and barely evading Hawke just as she was about to press up against him and utterly shatter the last vestiges of his restraint.

"_Don't_," he warned, unable to get more than one word out as he leaned forward with tightly shut eyes, trying to suppress the flare of his lyrium markings.

_Oh Maker, not again. I didn't mean for this to happen! _Hawke stood with hands upraised for a moment more, then quickly dropped them as one of the hirelings loudly thumped a crate into the back of a nearby cart.

She cast her eyes around, finding little relief in the fact that none of the hirelings seemed to be taking note of the scene. Fenris was out of their view, stooped with fisted hands pressed to his knees, hidden by the cart, and the threat of his and her reputations combined seemed to have been enough to divert the hirelings attention when he'd pulled her close. But his markings were beginning to glow faintly, not enough to fully limn him in light, yet enough that she could see them clearly from where she stood, a few feet away.

Hawke took two steps towards him. "Fenris? Is there anything I can do?"

The frantic sound of her voice added an unwelcome mix of apprehension, regret, and shame to Fenris's spiraling knot of emotions.

_Not in front of these strangers. Not in front of Hawke. I do not want pity. Curse these markings. I never wanted these, but I __**will**__ control this. I must keep from losing myself. I cannot unleash this on her. I could not bear to hurt her. I have already seen others who cared for me lying dead at my feet. Not her. I could not bear that._

"Go," he commanded, almost slipping with the small effort of speaking.

Heart twisting painfully, Hawke forced herself to back away. As Fenris pressed a gauntleted hand to his forehead, expression a rictus of pain, she turned and fled more quickly.

_He told me to go. If I truly love him, I will do as he asks. But Maker, it hurts to leave him like this. His markings… twice yesterday and again now. I should not have tried to kiss him. Andraste's bloody pyre, he is right. My carelessness always seems to cost others. _

"Andraste's sodding teats, where's that blasted girl now? Girly! Time to meet the scouting crew!"

Hawke stopped with a sigh, shoulders slumping even further. _Oh, Fenris. I'm so sorry. For everything… _She forced herself to breathe past the tightness in her chest._ I hope he is all right. All I want to do is go back to him, but…_

"Varric! By the Ancestors, where is that partner of yours? We need to get this sodding show on the road! Time is money!"

Reluctantly, she began heading in the direction of Bartrand's booming shouts.

"It was a nice little break while it lasted," Hawke quietly remarked to herself, trying to work past the lump in her throat so she could sound professional when she reached Bartrand.

* * *

Hawke lingered with her companions near the front of the stopped expedition procession, watching the group of shifty Carta scouts who were conversing in an animated but hushed tone. They had halted over an hour ago to find a way around a collapsed bridge that no longer spanned a gaping river of lava ahead.

"So… any idea what's going on?" she leaned down to whisper to Varric.

"I dunno," he replied with a shrug. "The Carta guy I was with scouted down one of the side tunnels, then suddenly turned around and came back. He doesn't exactly… explain much." Then he paused thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, he might not have a tongue. The Carta is pretty thorough when someone slips and says something they shouldn't."

Hawke snorted, thinking erroneously that he exaggerated. "Mine doesn't say much either. All I got out of him was his name… it's 'Grim,' of all things." Varric cackled at the appropriate name. "He did the same thing. We were exploring a side passage, then he just spun and pointed back the way we came."

She spoke up then, calling over to Anders who was sitting hunched in the back of one of the carts, still keeping his distance and a sullen silence after the jibes over breakfast. "Do you know anything about why we've stopped, Anders?"

He turned his head slightly but didn't fully look at her. "_Skuld_," he began, eyebrow going up at his dwarven partner's name, "said that his stone-sense was 'sodding blocked up tighter than a pebble-scarfing nug.' Whatever _that_ means."

Varric screwed his face up and made a strained noise. "Eugh. That's… a vivid description." After shaking his head as if to clear his imagination, he scratched at his chin. "Well, if you're really curious, Hawke, we can always go ask Bartrand. Though I have to say, it's almost worse that he's so quiet right now." The dwarf peered up at her with a shrug. "Up to you."

Hawke glanced over at the one member of their little band who she hadn't yet asked about the stoppage — and who had not spoken on his own. Fenris leaned calmly against the wall, one hand loosely clasping his armored wrist, head turned away from them all as he seemed to watch Bartrand's silent pacing.

"Fenris?" she called softly. It was the first time she'd addressed him directly since retreating from his presence that morning — she had continued giving him space, and he had remained silent and aloof since their ill-fated encounter.

With each of them assigned to a Carta scout and spread out in their new pairs to search the side passages, there had not been much opportunity for them to speak, regardless. _Even if there had been a chance before now, he clearly does not wish to, _she knew. _Still, I need answers. I will just have to be careful. At least with everyone here, there is little danger of me trying to kiss him again…_

Fenris's head turned a fraction of an inch, but he did not speak or look directly at her. Though he kept it from his face, he struggled against the swirling currents that churned within him as she called his name. _Venhedis, now I cannot even listen to her without almost losing myself? _He gritted his teeth, holding back his lyrium talent that yearned to blaze forth.

_Perhaps it is this place. Perhaps it reminds me too much of Danarius's workshop,_ he thought, expression souring as he inhaled the foul, metallic air. _Perhaps my markings assume it is time to… 'practice' once more. _The thought of Danarius's painful experiments did nothing to calm him.

Observing the subtly tight look to Fenris's jaw, Hawke cautiously approached, not wanting to have a conversation out in the open. "Do you know why we've stopped, Fenris?" she inquired, declining to ask after his well-being, and keeping some extra distance between them so he wouldn't feel smothered.

Noticing her efforts only made Fenris more morose. _Last night and this morning were a mistake. I should not have sought to get closer to her when I already felt myself slipping. _It had taken several tense minutes of calming himself to recover that morning, and only by carefully remaining at a distance from her throughout the day did he gradually settle back into a more manageable state of mind. _But tonight… Fasta vass, no. I cannot even begin to think on that._

"There is a long side passage ahead," he explained instead, focusing on the present. "The dwarf scout is trying to find a way through."

Hawke frowned. "But we were supposed to stay in pairs."

Fenris shifted his eyes to the side, glancing flatly at her. "He told me I was too big, that I was getting in his way, and to return. So I did." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice at being summarily dismissed by the terse dwarf scout.

_He does not sound happy. Well, neither am I, really. _"Oh. Well… Bartrand did say to do whatever they said." She fidgeted a little, clasping her hands in front of herself to keep from reaching out and smoothing his hair aside. _He needs time and space. And I must be professional in front of everyone. He'll come back around once he feels he's ready. Once he's had a chance to sort things out. _

A loud, resounding rumble shook the floor beneath their feet, thin curtains of dust cascading down from the ceiling and arching tunnel walls. Fenris barely shifted, merely bracing himself against the wall, but Hawke swayed slightly, hand slapping against the stone in surprise as she looked over her shoulder in the direction of the noise.

"Andraste's rusty iron foot, what _was_ that?"

Fenris just sighed quietly, envisioning having to spend the next few hours digging through rubble to find his unappreciative scouting partner. _If he is dead, I will not take the blame for it. Though perhaps he did me a favor in sending me away, if he wound up collapsing the way forward in on himself… Foolish dwarf._

The entire expedition crew began to gather behind where Hawke and the others waited, muttering and whispering as they all speculated about what was going on. She turned away from Fenris and beckoned to Varric. Anders saw her summons, too, looking forward as he was from his seat in the back of the cart after the disturbance.

"Well," she sighed, drawing herself up, "instead of all of us just standing here, let us see if we can find out what's going on, shall we? It won't do much good to be left in the dark."

Varric reluctantly stepped up beside her, tugging his coat straight before taking out Bianca. He stroked the crossbow as if to soothe himself. Anders slid slowly out of the back of the cart, leaning on his staff as he made his way to stand behind Varric.

Fenris looked away, staring at the stone wall he leaned against for a moment before pushing himself away from it and falling in behind Hawke. _I should remain at her side. I did not like the look of that tunnel, and darkspawn may show at any moment in this place. Hawke may need me. I will just have to remain cautious around her._

Hawke almost glanced back at him but stopped halfway, marching resolutely instead for Bartrand. _Focus on the expedition, Marian, Fenris can take care of himself._

She looked down at Varric, addressing him instead. "We can at least make a token effort of offering our assistance. We are professionals, after all."

As they approached Bartrand from behind, one of the Carta dwarves, head shaved almost bald and face tattooed with dark bars of ink, came running from ahead, dust puffing from his clothing with each step. He pointedly did not look at Bartrand, who still paced, seemingly unperturbed by the loud disturbance that had rattled everyone else. Instead, the scout joined the cluster of his fellows.

"Bartrand," Hawke called. "If I might have a word?"

Varric's surly brother turned to fix her with a flat stare, but his steely gaze soon shifted to the growing mutterings from the group of Carta scouts. Wordlessly, Bartrand turned and waved for her to follow. Hawke and her companions all complied.

Hearing a lot more shuffling feet than just those of her three friends, she glanced back. Many of the other hirelings, Bodahn and Sandal included, also followed close behind, seeming to have joined her out of curiosity.

_It is the same thing everywhere I go,_ she thought with a sigh. _Why am I always the leader? Do I look like I know what I'm doing?_ Then she took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her armor and squaring her shoulders. _Well, I suppose I should be glad that my professionalism is paying off. Still, it will be my head that Bartrand bites off if I'm the one sticking my neck out. _She decided to take a page from Fenris and be a more quiet, observant sort of professional and less an adventurous, outgoing one while she watched whatever was about to happen play out.

One of the Carta dwarves was ejected from the tight knot of scouts. It was the same one that had returned from the way ahead — Fenris's dusty scouting partner. The rest of the shifty, grave-faced dwarves moved away, distancing themselves from him as Bartrand approached, Hawke following close behind with most of the expedition crew in tow.

The Carta dwarf swallowed hard, looking strangely uncomfortable for as severe as his appearance was. He took a few jogging steps towards the eldest Tethras brother, who held up a hand, halting the impromptu expedition procession behind him.

"There's been a collapse… the way forward is blocked," the scout reported, gesturing over his shoulder.

"What?" Bartrand roared, finally unleashing his pent-up anger. "Is there some way around?" Hands balling into fists, he stalked slowly and menacingly towards the Carta scout, who began backing away.

"N-not that I've been able to find," the scout said, pleading eyes shifting nervously from face to face among the rest of the expedition crew as he held up his hands in placation to Bartrand.

Hawke glanced around, quickly assessing the situation for herself, eyebrow going up as she did so. From the looks on everyone's faces, it seemed that, without discussion, they'd all already figured out this scout had been the one who'd caused the collapse. _Which means Bartrand has undoubtedly come to the same conclusion._

"The side passages are too dangerous," the nervous dwarf continued, inclining his head to the group of Carta scouts who all nodded hastily without meeting Bartrand's narrowed eyes.

Bartrand finally stopped his march, crossing his arms as his fists loosened. He tugged and stroked thoughtfully at his braided mustache, lips pursing. Then, after a quiet moment's reflection, he finally just shrugged.

Everyone seemed to relax as his stocky shoulders slumped back down, as if they deflated along with the surly Tethras family head's heated mood.

Only Varric tensed, raising one hand to rub at his brow as he sighed. "Oh, Maker, here it comes…"

Bartrand's big fist swung out of nowhere, taking the gritty Carta dwarf square in his sturdy jaw. The hapless scout spun almost completely about before he crumpled to the ground in another puff of rock dust, eyes already rolled back into his head.

"Useless!" Bartrand bellowed, the Deep Roads echoing his rage back at them for what seemed like minutes. Everyone winced, some holding their ears, others rubbing at their own jaws in sympathy.

Fenris envied Bartrand somewhat. _I would not have minded taking a swing at that foolish dwarf myself. Still, that is what he gets for refusing my help. Clearly it was a poor choice. I might have been able to spot the fault that triggered the collapse. He is lucky to be alive, though no doubt his face will not thank him. Well, it hardly matters now… _

Bartrand turned and saw everyone milling about behind him. The hirelings all looked away hastily, staring up at the ceiling, down at the floor, or anywhere except the dangerous snare of their expedition leader's gaze. "What do I pay you blighters for?" he raged on, white-knuckled fists waving in the air. "Set camp!"

He stormed off into one of the side passages that ended in a small, open-sided cavern, and all the hirelings scrambled to drag the carts after him. Hawke led her own small crew away from the mad dash, keeping out from underfoot.

"Not that I couldn't use some time off," she said, perching on a large stone across the passage from the cavern entrance, "but we've barely been underway for, what, four hours? It's hardly even lunchtime."

Fenris resumed unconcernedly holding up this opposite tunnel wall, face turning away from her to watch the expedition group swarm into the cavern across the way.

"Bartrand's going to want to stew for a bit," Varric said with a heavy sigh, sitting on the lower end of Hawke's slanted rock. "My brother hates setbacks. What he doesn't realize is, these things don't actually set you back unless you go storming off to rant at the Stone for a few hours."

Anders remained standing, leaning heavily against his staff and looking distracted.

"Perhaps we'll wait for camp to be set, then offer to look around a bit ourselves?" she suggested, glancing at all of her companions in turn. "I don't know about your scouting partners, but Grim barely took a dozen steps into some of the side passages. " Everyone nodded except for Fenris, who instead gave the hint of a shrug.

Hawke settled in. "We'll go see about it once things die down in the cavern a bit. Besides, I think we could all use a break, and I don't particularly see the point in setting up our own campsite just yet. Not when there's exploring to be done."

Anders and Fenris both shrugged with varying, but decidedly lackluster, degrees of enthusiasm. She frowned, briefly miffed with the touchiness of both of them. Then she shook the unkind thoughts off and resolved to tend to their moods as best she knew how. _They are down here to help me. This is not easy for any of us. Everyone deals with things in different ways. Varric jokes and drinks, Anders casts down oppressive tents and whines a bit, and Fenris… well, broods._

Only Varric nodded and spoke, drawing out his notebook and pencil as he did so. "Sure. Besides, it'll be fun seeing Bartrand squirm when he is forced to admit how much he needs us!" He chuckled deviously to himself, settling back against the stone wall to sketch.

Hawke spared one last glance for Fenris. The brooding look on his face told her everything she needed to know about how to best take care of him. Leaving him be, she turned her attention to Anders instead, patting the stone beside her. "Do you want to sit down, Anders? You look exhausted."

"Yes. I mean, no." He glanced from the rock to Fenris, then back to Hawke again after seeing the way he was pointedly ignoring the exchange. "Perhaps."

She laughed, scooting over a bit to sit on the very edge of the large, smooth-edged stone. "Well, once you make up your mind, there is room enough here."

After a moment's hesitation, Anders strode over and pulled himself up onto the sloped block, settling back against the wall behind, staff leaning in the crook of one arm. "Thank you. It is good to rest."

He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "A few of the hirelings have been coming around with minor ailments and complaints, after word got around that I am a healer." His expression grew flat. "Apparently that I am an apostate is not known, though I suppose that is for the best… Some just assume my potions and poultices are exceptionally effective. Others assume I am 'on loan' from the Circle or something. As if."

Hawke tried to change the subject away from the sore topic. "Oh? I was not aware that anyone had gotten hurt. What kind of…"

He shook his head vigorously, cutting off her question as to the nature of the hirelings' injuries. "Patient-healer confidentiality," the mage explained, tone going a bit wry, eyes still closed. "Besides, you _probably _do not want to know some of the details…"

Varric huffed a chuckle from the other side of the rock. "I'm going to guess more than a few took one too many strolls through a well-known 'rose garden' and eventually got stuck with a less-than-pristine 'thorn.'"

Anders cracked one eye open to regard Varric, raising an eyebrow and inclining his head slightly, expression one of understatement.

"I told Bartrand not to pay them a sign-on bonus, but he insisted we wouldn't be able to keep the hirelings around otherwise. I said 'let 'em go back to the docks or farms or wherever.' It's not like there was a shortage of people wanting to sign on for this." The younger Tethras brother trailed off, muttering unintelligible curses about the elder.

"Men," Hawke snorted, rolling her eyes. "I will never understand their fascination with brothels." Anders shifted uncomfortably on the stone beside her. Fenris turned to regard the group for a moment before looking away again, which caught Hawke's attention.

_I wonder if he will want to sleep elsewhere tonight. Or longer than just for tonight. I wish he would just talk to me and tell me what he is thinking or feeling or going through. I wish I could help somehow… I wish we could have just kissed._

Anders finally found a change of topic. "Sometimes people have youthful indiscretions. Anyway, the less said about healing the hirelings, the better. What of you, Marian, are you holding up well?"

She shrugged, finally dragging her concerned gaze away from Fenris. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" Anders eyed Fenris for a moment and a smile began to lift one corner of his mouth. But Fenris shot him a piercing hard stare and the he looked away, mouth turning down instead.

"Well, you seemed in an awfully… _jolly_ mood this morning," the mage finally said, glancing at Hawke, tone a little tight. Fidgeting with his staff, Anders rolled the shaft in his hand and peered down at the head of it sullenly.

Hawke leaned over, nudging her shoulder against his. "Now, now, no getting cross over that again. It was just a little harmless teasing. You know we rely on you, Anders." He made a noncommittal grunt, so she continued stroking his ego. "Your healing, your fireballs, your no-longer-with-the-Grey-Wardens… stuff."

He sniffed, looking down and continuing to pout despite her efforts to charm.

"Yeah, Blondie," Varric added, giving Anders a quick glance. "Besides, without you here, I'd have no one to test out my newest jokes on!"

Anders continued to wallow, playing it up for sympathy, and Fenris had to grit his teeth against a torrent of angry and jealous words that he wanted to say to Hawke. _Why does she even bother with that mage? Rely on him? We don't need him. _

_Magic… it is a plague that seems to follow me wherever I go. _Having nowhere else to go, however, and unwilling to leave Hawke relatively unattended with the apostate, Fenris remained leaning silently against the wall, simmering.

Varric started in on one of his latest jests. "Let's see how you like this one: A templar walks into a tavern, and the bartender looks up and says 'Ale, ser knight?'"

Perking up, Anders glanced over at Varric with an expectant smirk on his face. "And the stupid templar says?"

_More jokes… wonderful,_ Fenris thought with a silent sigh, rolling his eyes.

"And the stupid templar says," continued Varric, "'You knew I came over here for an ale? You read my mind! Blood mage! Blood mage!' and he bludgeons the bartender to death with his shield."

No one laughed. Fenris blinked once, very grimly, mouth pressed into a humorless, thin line. Hawke just lifted an eyebrow, shaking her head, though a small smile did play about the corners of her lips.

Anders's smile went a little lopsided, turning into a grimace as his brow creased. "That's… not very funny. Blood magic, mind invasion… those things are anathema for a reason."

Varric sighed heavily. "Tough crowd. Well, maybe it's best to leave the darker material for nighttime anyway. Every joke is funnier when mixed liberally with alcohol."

Hawke chuckled. "My father's favorite one was 'Why did Andraste never walk into a bar?'" Anders and Varric looked at her, shrugging. "Because she was always exaltedly marching into them."

Anders laughed gratuitously, slapping his thigh. "Blasphemous! Telling a joke like that in the Circle would have earned you a cuff on the ear from the templars, then a stern lecture from a senior enchanter and a chantry Mother, both."

Hawke raised her eyebrows, sighing. _The laugh I was hoping for — the Circle observations, not so much. _Still, she continued to try her best.

"Well, Father always said he wasn't cut out for Circle life. He had a very good sense of humor, so maybe it was one of the reasons he fled." She had a very hard time imagining her father not cracking wise, telling jokes, or laughing.

"Hmm. Well, I can think of at least a dozen more pressing reasons to want to escape the Circle…" Anders's brows drew down, expression going dark. "But the insidious way it presses the joy and laughter out of your life day by day _is_ one of cruelest things about it."

Just as Fenris's lip began to curl and he thought about storming off, unwilling to put up with more of the apostate's whining about the injustices of the Circle even for Hawke, Varric screwed up his own face and spoke up.

"Not this shit again. Go _away_, Justice, you're oppressing my own joy and laughter." Mouth closing with an audible click, Anders cut off before speaking whatever it was he was about to say. Varric didn't look up from his sketching, sounding a little irritable. "Come on, someone tell more jokes. We'll get enough lectures when we go to talk to Bartrand."

Hawke scrubbed a hand through her hair, trying not to look frustrated. _Raising Anders's spirits is even harder than cheering Fenris up. And I suppose Varric is not coping as well with all of this as I had hoped… Maybe he put a lot of thought into that templar joke?_

Everyone stayed quiet, each silence having subtly varying degrees of frustration, sullenness, impatience, and grumpiness.

"I will need some flint, three torches, and for all of you to stand back at least six feet," Hawke announced gravely after a few long minutes, hopping off the rock. She began limbering up her arms and shoulders, rolling her neck from side to side. _Better warm up or risk lighting myself on fire. I would rather not lose any eyebrows. It would look very unprofessional._

Fenris straightened finally, looking a little startled. _Surely she is not serious. _He realized he was not sure whether or not he wanted her to be. _I did wonder if she really could, though…_

"Are we going to go exploring now?" Anders asked, sounding a little petulant. "I thought we were taking a break."

Hawke pulled both of her daggers free, then leaned down to slip her extra knife out of her boot. After testing the weight of them in her hands for a few moments and aligning the handles properly, she began tossing them into the air. Varric looked up and barked a laugh as she began to juggle.

"No exploring yet," she explained tersely, eyes staying on the flying, sharp objects. "Raising morale."

Varric leaned far to one side, squinting into the expedition's cavern campsite across the way. "Shit. None of the hirelings are even watching. Bartrand ruins everything." He looked back at Hawke. "You'll have to do a repeat performance tonight."

"That… looks dangerous," Anders said warily, shrinking back against the wall. "You're mad."

"It is. And I sort of am." As she fell into the rhythm of tossing and catching, Hawke relaxed, taking her eyes off the weapons to fix them all with a sly smile. "Warming up first, then we'll move on to lit torches, if need be. If that can't get you all smiling, then I'll know I should just give up entirely."

Fenris edged his way over to the stone block to see better. _I suppose I should have known she was not joking about this, _he thought, remembering the way she had neatly tossed and caught her dagger while they'd walked to the Deep Roads entrance from Kirkwall. His eyes followed the arcing path of each blade, observing the deft motions of her hands as she caught then tossed each one in a careful rhythm, sending them spinning just enough to land hilt-first when they dropped again.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked carefully, concerned that his question would distract her. Though his brow was creased with worry, he watched her intently with keen eyes.

Hawke had to take extra care not to lose her concentration, surprised when he finally spoke."Just one of _my_ many learned skills, Fenris," she teased, hoping to get a smile at their inside joke. Fenris just blinked, so she decided to explain.

"Father sometimes busked to make coin as a child, and juggling was one of his specialities. I learned from him." Throwing the blades a little higher to buy her enough time, Hawke spun fully around in a showy whirl, armored skirt flaring. She completed the revolution just in time to avoid dropping any of the blades, though she had to thrust a hand low to catch one back up.

"I am a little out of practice, but he could juggle almost anything. Four, five, six random objects… fruit… knives… axes." One of the blades went a little wide, so she shifted, tongue peeking out between her lips as she focused, reaching over to snag it.

Anders shrank back a little more at the near mishap, but Varric leaned forward, rapt. Fenris remained still, observing quietly.

"He even juggled Mother's entire Orlesian china tea set one time. Well, almost," she continued once her rhythm was once again solid. "He started with the cream pitcher, sugar bowl and teapot… then he had Bethany, Carver, and me take turns tossing tea cups into the mix. I think he got up to four cups before Mother came back early from the Chantry and caught us at it. She shrieked so loud that Father almost dropped everything. Luckily the only thing that broke was one of the tea cups that Carver had just thrown in." She smiled at the memory, Varric laughing and Anders weakly chuckling at the anecdote.

Fenris thought of the many slaves — jugglers, tumblers, acrobats, dancers — that Danarius always used to entertain himself and his guests. _My former master never deigned to do anything for himself if there was a slave who could do it instead._ _Well, nothing except flaunt his power, wealth, and influence. _He did not want to think of the sorts of foul rituals Danarius performed when he _did_ decide to entertain his guests himself.

"And your father was a mage?" Fenris asked, tone slightly suspicious. "Why did he not simply… use magic to keep all of the dishes in the air?"

One by one in quick succession, Hawke flicked each blade so high that it seemed they would graze the vaulted ceiling of the Deep Roads tunnel. Hands now empty, she looked straight at Fenris. "Because Father believed in trying to do things without magic if possible."

_That is an unusual philosophy for a mage, _Fenris thought, eyebrow going up.

"He always said to rely on your wits first…" Hawke caught the first falling dagger in one hand without breaking eye contact with him. "And your skills second." The second dagger dropped straight into her other palm, and she quickly sheathed them on her back.

All of their eyes were drawn upward then, to where her small, glittering knife was already falling straight down, aimed at Hawke's head. Varric and Anders both sat forward, looking a little apprehensive as Hawke continued to stand there, not even looking up. Fenris's easy posture did not change, but his eyes flicked from Hawke to the knife and back.

She smiled, eyes only for Fenris. "Because no amount of magic or skill will keep you from harm if you don't have the good sense to keep out of trouble's way in the first place." Taking one quick side step, she let the knife fall just past her shoulder — before reaching out and catching it from above, holding it between her thumb and forefinger by the very tip.

Anders began to applaud slowly, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief.

Varric joined in more enthusiastically after a stunned moment. "Maker's breath, Hawke. Screw taking a look around for Bartrand, let me go find those torches…"

_Fenris is talking to me, Anders has a smile on his face, and Varric is bursting at the seams. I would say that my morale raising quest is complete. _Taking a quick bow while slipping the knife back into her boot, Hawke chuckled, "Maybe later, Varric. When all the hirelings can watch."

Anders and Varric began animatedly discussing other things to have her try juggling, so she walked over to perch back on the rock. She took care as she brushed past Fenris, who stood close by her former perch after having moved over to watch her. Pulling herself back up to sit facing him, Hawke looked over at his blank expression. _Let us see if I can draw him out a little more. He did come over and speak to me first, after all._

She gripped the edge of the stone and swung her dangling legs, pitching her voice just for him. "So, now you see where I get it from. I must have inherited my father's tendency to play a bit loose when it comes to seeking out trouble. Much like how he thought juggling Mother's china would be fun, I seem destined to always… enjoy flirting with danger." She gave Fenris a shy, flirtatious smile, but he looked aside, frowning. _Damn_, _I'm just making this worse._

_I am dangerous, _he thought, deeply troubled.

"Kittens," Varric suggested. "Think of it — the loud meowing, claws everywhere, bits of fur flying… A feast for the senses! Sounds kinda cool, huh?"

"What? No!" Anders said, aghast. "That's a horrible thing have Marian juggle!"

Ignoring the conversation behind her and thinking quickly, Hawke leaned closer to Fenris and added, "However, I'm sure that caution can also lead to enjoyable experiences." He glanced sidelong at her, so she shrugged innocently, letting her voice go even softer.

"After all, why always rush headlong into things? Taking your time can be far more rewarding. You still get where you want to go, but you are better able to enjoy every small thing along the way." _Maybe that will help with his uneasiness. I just want him to know that there's no hurry. I love him, and I intend to do whatever I can to help him, even if that is to wait. He is worth the effort._

Looking away again but not really studying the ancient dwarven reliefs chiseled into the wall, Fenris crossed his arms over his chest, one gauntleted hand coming up to press against his lips thoughtfully. His armored thumb rubbed a few slow, thoughtful strokes at his sharp elven chin.

_Despite her flattery of me over breakfast, she is the one who has a way with words, _he thought with his usual sense of resignation when it came to trying to distance himself from her. _Well, at least with the others present, it is not so hard to hold my emotions at bay. It seems to be much more difficult when we are alone and we touch. _

Hawke watched him, remembering how smooth his skin had felt underneath her fingers when she'd swept them along his angular, sculpted jaw. _How I envy those gauntlets of his… for more reasons than just aesthetics and armoring now. _She started chewing on her own lip just watching the way his gloved fingers curled and brushed against his mouth.

"_Dwarves_, then," Anders suggested darkly. "If you insist on asking her to throw cats about, then I will see if she can toss _you_ about, and we'll just see how 'cool' you find it. Whatever that even means."

"What?" cried Varric, voice going uncharacteristically high. "Look, Blondie, maybe you don't know this, being a reclusive human rebel mage on the lam and all, but dwarf-tossing is sort of a sore subject with my people. It is the opposite of _cool_."

Seeing all four of them suitably distracted, a stocky, blond, dwarfish figure pranced away unseen from the mouth of the cavern across from where Hawke's group lingered. The unobserved wanderer made a beeline for a nearby side passage, walking quietly but confidently away into the darkness.

_At least I should have the opportunity for battle soon, _Fenris reflected, trying not to think about how all the pleasant events of his morning had been overshadowed. He also felt Hawke's eyes on him, but he studiously avoiding looking at her lest his control slip away from him again. He thought instead of the oily, black substance he'd observed clinging in patches to the walls, ceiling, and floor of the now-collapsed tunnel ahead that he'd explored with the Carta scout.

_If the mage is correct, that probably means we are getting deep enough to encounter darkspawn. Even if they were not already here, they doubtless heard the tunnel collapse and will come to investigate._

Feeling the writhing knot of emotions within him settle down considerably at the thought of being able to let his lyrium markings burn freely when facing the darkspawn, Fenris allowed himself to turn back to Hawke.

"Your father sounds like an… interesting man," he said without preamble.

Hawke released her teased lower lip and smiled quietly to herself. "He was. Also kind, loving, and terribly witty. He always had a joke or some outrageous story of way back when… and you never knew if he was being truthful or not. He was so good to Mother… and a wonderful father, despite everything. Truly, the Maker took him too soon." She sighed, face tilting downward, shoulders bowing. "He bade me take over as head of our family, but no one could ever fill his boots."

"I am sorry," Fenris replied quietly, seeing the faded echo of sadness that softened her features as she spoke of her father. "He… died before the Blight?" _Alive or dead, if I ever knew my own father, his memory has long since been taken from me._

Hawke nodded, rubbing at her nose quickly. "Three… no, four years ago now? Sometimes it doesn't seem that long. Other times…" She slumped forward a little, swinging her feet out slowly. "At least he was spared seeing everything that he and Mother worked so hard for destroyed by the darkspawn, and losing Carver."

_Sometimes I forget that she herself has had to flee for her life,_ Fenris thought, recalling the first night she visited and he'd asked whether she planned to return to Ferelden. _What did she say then? 'Some things can't be rebuilt'?_ _I suppose I can understand even better now why she does not want to return. Not only is her family and a future for her here, but her old home holds bitter memories. _He sighed. _I certainly know that feeling… _

Hawke finally gave a mirthless chuckle. "Knowing him, Father would have gone off to fight the darkspawn. He was quite skilled with weapons, since he always avoided magic when his own two hands would suffice. It's one reason my brother and I joined the army — Father would have wanted us to defend our home and family. After fleeing to Ferelden, he always avoided getting into situations where he would be forced to kill or use magic, but I know he would not have hesitated to use everything he had against the darkspawn."

Fenris finally uncrossed his arms and let his own two hands drop, looking down at them. _Not a typical mage at all — at least not like those where I come from. Danarius and the other magisters reveled in going to Seheron to kill qunari, making a game of it, seeing which could kill the most and win even more prestige in the Senate. To say nothing of quietly assassinating their rivals, or anyone else they wished, for that matter._

He then thought of his own reluctance to use his markings after his escape, his debt to protect Hawke, and his own careful avoidance of dire situations. And too his new resolve to unleash his full abilities, to not hold back any longer. _I may not have wanted these filthy markings, and I may have been forced to use them by Danarius in the past, but they have since helped me carve a path to freedom. And using them now may help me keep Hawke safer — both on and off the battlefield. _

He studied Hawke obliquely, thinking of all the mages they both knew, then of all the magisters he had encountered. _Hmm. It is difficult for me to imagine a mage showing such self-discipline, except perhaps her own sister. Yet, even if I cannot understand her father's true motivations, I can appreciate his restraint. Perhaps… even admire it._

"He would have really liked you, I think," Hawke mused softly, glancing up at him. "Father always loved to travel, to see the world — but we were forced to stay in Ferelden. With everywhere you've been and as much as you know about everything, well… He would have peppered you with so many questions. I bet you two could have talked for days on end."

She smirked a little. "He talked even more than I do, if you can believe it. Another trait I inherited from him."

"Well," Fenris replied slowly, a little daunted at the thought of someone who talked even more than Hawke, "you know I do not talk much. Except around you, of course." Her smile deepened at that and he felt his own smile tug at one corner of his mouth. "But perhaps if you take that strongly after him, I would have found it easy to speak to your father, too." Hawke nodded, smile fading as she looked down again, eyes distant.

"Truly," he added softly, "I am sorry that I will not get the chance."

Feeling suddenly homesick, heartsick, and alone, Hawke reached out and lay her fingers lightly on his vambrace. "Thank you." _He is good to me. Even if he is troubled and unsure about all of this, I am glad he is here. This would be so much harder without him. Though I worry about losing him after losing Father, John, and Carver… I am glad that Fenris is here. I would not want it any other way._

Fenris was immediately reminded of the way she had caressed his vambraces that morning. Looking down at where her fingertips pressed along the metal and remembering their last, tender moment alone together made him more acutely aware of her touch than if she'd actually traced along his bare skin.

Dual desires warred within him. He wanted to feel her hand pressing against his skin, remembering the soft comfort of awakening to her touch. But he knew he had to hold back after the near-flare of his markings just before camp broke. _She did not even touch me, then, merely my armor. I want to kiss her, but how can I when I cannot seem to bear her touch again?_

_I may need some distance tonight, fighting or no, _he realized, steeling himself against the roil of competing emotions that swelled in him again.

"Perhaps we'll talk this evening… about your father," Fenris offered, shifting a little, just enough to pull away from Hawke's outstretched hand. She quickly pulled it back, leaning against the edge of the stone again and looking down at the floor, expression guarded. "I can… practice my conversing," he continued, "and you can tell me more about him." _Speaking of her father will probably preclude any… unwise ideas either of us might have, as well. _

She remained quiet for a few moments. "Of course. That would be… nice."

Hawke tried not to feel rejected at him pulling away from her._ I guess talking is almost as nice as what we've been practicing the past few nights… right? I like listening to him talk, after all. And he just needs some time. Perhaps it is not so much me touching his skin as it is me invading his space. Andraste's tarty lips, I should not have tried to kiss him._

She gripped the lip of the stone block, resolved to keep her hands, and the rest of her, to herself. _It is not his fault that thinking of Father makes me also think of John and Carver, and of missing Mother and Bethany, too. So, I feel lonely; so what? Fenris has been truly alone for so long. It is wrong for me to put my needs on him when he is clearly dealing with his own struggles. _

Hawke herself struggled to dismiss the hurt of being pushed away again. Finally tiring of wallowing, she turned to upbraiding herself. _I have become entirely too selfish. Very unprofessional. This place is dangerous, and others are counting on me. I should save my moping for the surface._

"Well," she sighed, straightening and trying not to start brooding herself, "shall we go talk to Bartrand now?"

Fenris inclined his head a fraction in agreement, so she glanced back at Varric and Anders. They had given up on arguing about juggling and had started discussing the seemingly very few careers open to surface dwarves.

"Well, there could be mushroom growers and nug wranglers," Anders proposed evenly.

"Orzammar will never let those people go topside," Varric countered with a shake of the head. "Too vital. Also, _embarrassing_." He leaned around Anders to look at her. "Did you say you want to go see Bartrand now, Hawke?"

"Yes, I think we've given it enough time for things to settle down. Surely he's worked up almost as fine a stew as Bodahn." She hopped off the rock again and patted at her stomach. "Speaking of, I wonder if we'll get an early lunchtime. I hope we didn't already miss out on sandwiches…"

_Nothing like eating to take the mind off broody elves who suddenly 'just want to talk…' _she thought she shook her head to clear away the dark mood that threatened to settle over her. _No, no, Marian, mustn't think like that. Or eat like that. If I had a sandwich every time Fenris turned introspective, I'd need bigger armor within a week. Best leave the heavy brooding and eating to him._

Stopping short of rubbing his own stomach, Fenris did admit to himself that the expedition's dwarven merchant-slash-cook made sandwiches almost as good as Hawke's. _For all the other discomforts of this place, at least the food is good and plentiful. Much better than my last journey, with Anso. _He rolled his eyes, just thinking of his last employer.

_His cooking was worse than mine… and I still do not fully understand why he was so afraid of everything. Peeling potatoes, sparks from the fire, the hot metal pot, the pointed end of the spit — falling into the sky? _Fenris sighed, remembering how jumpy Anso had been, though it had worked out in his favor. The dwarf's nervousness about everything having to do with the surface was why he'd been hired on in the first place. _Still, _he thought wryly_, I am glad it is not so with all dwarves._

Now that he had a plan in place for both the day and the night ahead, Fenris found he was more at ease and less apprehensive about being near Hawke for the rest of the day. _Lunch and a few battles, and I may yet salvage today. Then tonight, I will enjoy the quiet of our tent and Hawke can talk my ears off. We can try practicing other things another evening, perhaps. When I feel more in control. _He tried to be optimistic that everything would work out just as he planned._ Otherwise, this will be a very long day. And an even longer expedition… _

Hawke began to trudge her way across the broad Deep Roads passage towards the cavern where the expedition crew still buzzed about setting camp. Fenris followed close behind, and Varric caught up to walk beside her, squaring his shoulders and swaggering a bit, obviously looking forward to speaking with his elder brother. Anders trailed further back, staff tapping heavily against the stone.

Fenris kept himself from turning to glare at the apostate's sullen plodding. _It would not do to get angry and undo all my careful control. Besides, looking at him might ruin my appetite. _

They approached Bartrand as he was accosting the same dwarf he had punched earlier. "You're sorry? I'll show you sorry! I should take cost of this delay out of the Carta's cut! When they hear about this accidental 'collapse' you caused, you'll have a lot more to worry about than my fist-print on your jaw, you useless, slack-witted…"

"Problems, Brother?" Varric asked cheerfully. Bartrand turned to glare at Varric, and Fenris's unnamed scouting partner took the opportunity to bolt for a dark corner of the cavern.

Fenris shook his head slightly at the senseless violence and verbal abuse, but mostly at the scout's cowardice and slow reaction time. _The more dwarves I meet, the better I like this 'funny' one of Hawke's. Even if he insists that I… brood. Which I do not._

"Sodding Deep Roads!" the elder Tethras brother grumbled loudly. "Who knows how long it'll take to clear the path!"

Varric gave him a small, patronizing smile, voice dripping with charm. "Shall we not try to find a way around, instead? Seems like the logical choice."

The evenly-made suggestion still set Bartrand pacing angrily again.

"You think I'm an idiot, Varric?" he roared, fists waving about for emphasis. They all watched his right one in particular for any signs of sudden movement. "The scouts say the side passages are too dangerous!"

"See?" Hawke chimed in. "This is why you bring someone like me along." The surly expedition leader stopped to give her a narrow stare, but Varric held his hands up in placation before Bartrand could further make an ass of himself.

"We'll take a look. If we come back, screaming, you'll know staying put was the right decision." He kept his tone perfectly nonconfrontational and reasonable.

Bartrand's face screwed up tight, neck reddening to an impressively bright hue, but he waved his hands in a gesture of begrudging agreement and summary dismissal. "Fine, fine! Find a way around. Just do it quickly!" He stormed off into his large tent, though it was only half-pitched.

Hawke patted Varric on the shoulder. "Nicely handled. That wasn't half so bad as I expected…" She glanced back to Fenris and Anders. "Onward to adventure then? Destiny and darkspawn await."

Anders grimaced, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "This is why I left the Wardens. I hate the blighted Deep Roads."

Hawke turned around, looking at someone behind Anders and rubbing her hands together hungrily. "Ooh, sandwich _delivery_? Yes, please!"

However, Bodahn, who approached hesitantly, was not bearing sandwiches. "Er… I hate to add to your concerns, my friends," he said, voice strained with worry, "but I fear I must. I fear my boy, Sandal, wandered off. He's somewhere in those passages, right now!"

Hawke's face creased with concern, and both Varric and Anders made unhappy, discouraged grumbles.

Fenris held in a sigh. _I knew that… 'boy' would be trouble. But how did he slip past us? He's about as big as any other dwarf, and I can normally hear him skipping about from halfway across camp. How could he leave the cave and pass us, unseen? _Then he remembered Hawke's diverting juggling display, then how distracted he'd been when she spoke to him afterwards about her father. _No, surely he cannot have been that quiet and clever — perhaps it was just a coincidence that he slipped out when he did._

"I beg you, keep an eye out for him," Bodahn pleaded, sounding desperate. "He just… doesn't understand danger like he should."

Fenris remembered the way Sandal had looked into his eyes, spoken to him of the pain of his markings, then patted him on the head. _No, he really does not understand danger at all — not even when it stares him in the face. _

"When did you last see him?" Hawke asked.

Wringing his hands, Bodahn quickly answered, "Not a half hour ago. I turned my back to hand out rations, and he was gone! He gets so easily distracted." He rubbed at his forehead, looking pale. "Ah, I should have been harsher with my warnings!"

"One man out there, alone?" Hawke asked, turning to look at Anders. "What are his chances?"

The apostate shrugged reluctantly, looking uneasy. Then his eyes went to the cavern ceiling, which seemed oddly reflective from the greasy, black blight that indicated darkspawn presence. Hawke and Varric looked up, their expressions going rather bleak. Anders had lectured them all and the Carta scouts on darkspawn sign that morning before setting out.

Hawke's small group exchanged glances between one another. None of them spoke, but the consensus was clear on their faces.

The dwarven merchant-cook's eyes flicked from one somber face to another. "My boy is sturdier than you think!" he said defensively, though no one had voiced their concerns aloud. "If he has one of his enchantments with him, he'll survive. He's burned down the house twice by accident… I'm more worried about him getting lost. Oh, my poor boy!"

_Andraste's tweaked nose, _Hawke swore, thinking of her promise to Sandal before breakfast. _I certainly hope he didn't go off to try to make enchantments just so I'd have something for him to enchant. Perhaps I should have worded my promise more carefully. Sandal seems… very focused on enchantments, from what I can tell._

"We'll bring him back in one piece," she said distractedly. "Or maybe two. Hard to say, really." She pointedly did not rub at her forehead when she realized what she said, though she firmly held her tongue between her teeth. _Focus, Marian! All this worrying about Fenris and myself is making me terribly unprofessional. Maker!_

Though the rest of her companions gave her sidelong glances, Bodahn seemed too distressed to even notice her indecorous remark. "Poor Sandal. I can't believe he's done this!"

"Let's move quickly, then," Varric said.

Hawke walked over to Bodahn and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll do what we can." He nodded, looking down at his wringing hands. "I hate to ask…" she added hesitantly, "but could we perhaps… get our sandwiches to go?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow, but he was not about to stop her. _She is in rare form this afternoon… hmm._

"Oh!" the friendly cook gasped, hastily straightening and smoothing out his tunic. He looked a little more animated and less pale. "Aye, of course! I'm sorry, I did not mean to forget about you all, my friends. Let me go get your rations. I just got so distracted when Sandal disappeared…" He bustled way, looking slightly better for having something to occupy him.

"You really like your sandwiches," Fenris observed wryly to her, once Bodahn was out of earshot.

_What is that supposed to mean? _Hawke thought, wanting to frown at him, suddenly self-conscious about her figure after her own inward thoughts on eating away her gloominess.

Instead, she just shrugged. "If we're going to die in a cave-in or to a massive wave of darkspawn, what's the harm in being full? We can eat on the way, and I, for one, will fight the better for it."

She looked away, the picture of professional unconcern — except for the way she absentmindedly drummed her fingers against her stomach again and slightly smacked her lips.

Fenris felt his mouth twitching with a smile. _She may not eat as much as I do, but when Hawke has a hunger for something, she lets little get in the way of her satisfying herself._

"A few more minutes isn't going to hurt," Varric agreed. "For all we know, Bodahn's boy is hiding in one of the crates, pretending to be a pile of potatoes…"

"That reminds me," Anders said, pulling out his waterskin. "I should go refill this. You will die of thirst a lot faster down here than from hunger. With darkspawn about, any water we find standing in pools is certain to be unfit for consumption." He turned, heading over to one of the large, tapped water barrels sitting in the back of a cart near where Bodahn was tying up neat bundles of rations.

Varric pulled out his waterskin too, giving it a jiggle and listening to the contents slosh noisily inside. "I'll come with you, Blondie. Though I'm tempted to fill mine with ale…"

"You can drink _later_, Varric," Hawke called teasingly after him.

"There might not _be_ a later, Hawke," he retorted without turning. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. "But, point taken."

Realizing that she was now alone with Fenris, Hawke looked aside, rubbing at her neck and feeling suddenly nervous. She faced where he stood a few feet away, though she could not bring herself to meet his eye. _Just give him space… It's not as if I did something to make him dislike me or to make him angry. Well, I don't think so, anyway. _She searched her thoughts, though after their many misunderstandings and clashes over the past few weeks, she could never be certain. _No, I'm sure he would have said. Wouldn't he? _

The pain of seeing him distressed and at being sent away that morning had subtly worn on her throughout the day despite her best efforts to put the thoughts out of her mind. Having him pull away from her a few minutes ago, even though she only touched his vambrace, hurt deeper than she wanted to admit to herself.

_What if he decides to end things? Maybe he'll say we need to go back to being… whatever it was we were before we became whatever we are now. _Shaking off the nagging fear, Hawke pulled out and squeezed her own waterskin. It was full; she had not felt the need of a drink while they'd scouted. She'd been far too on edge, busy keeping up with Grim and keeping her eyes peeled for darkspawn after Anders's warnings. _And busy alternately wishing I had gone ahead and kissed Fenris, or that I had been knocked unconscious by a falling stalactite before I behaved so foolishly._

Fenris watched her for a moment, noting her discomfiture. _I hope she will not be this distracted in battle,_ he thought with growing concern. _She is acting… odd indeed, even for Hawke._ Then a related thought occurred to him, and he looked over both shoulders before speaking. Seeing no one about, he pitched his grave voice low to her, not wanting to be overheard if it could be helped.

"Hawke."

Hawke's fears utterly ran away from her when she saw his serious, furtive demeanor. _Maker, no… Here it comes… I knew it. No…_

"Yes?" Feeling her throat tighten, Hawke wished she could take a drink, but she knew she'd never manage it. _Mustn't make a scene — chin up, Marian. _But she looked down, barely releasing her death-squeeze on her waterskin before it burst.

Fenris noticed how, for once, she did not look up or smile when he said her name. If anything, she began to stare at her feet, shuffling a little where she stood. It put him rather in mind of when he had overheard her shuffling as she spoke to Leandra outside her uncle's hovel, the night Hawke had been crying over something. He suddenly could perfectly envision Aveline's battered templar shield.

Fidgeting a little himself, Fenris tried to assess the situation. _I do not understand this sudden… mood swing. Was she not just juggling and going on about sandwiches? She seemed in a fair enough mood to speak to the others. Perhaps it was speaking about her father. Or is she worried about the missing dwarf? _

The reasons seemed too numerous and varied for his comprehension, and he finally flicked his eyes in exasperation. _Women — it is they who truly brood. Though over what, I cannot begin to understand. Hmph. But enough, I need to tell her this before the others return. _

"I will be trying something different if we face battle today," Fenris explained quietly. "I… plan to use my markings fully, to make it more difficult for our enemies to see me or land blows. Similar to what I told you about, yesterday, after you…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his own elbow.

Then he shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, though he held rather high expectations for his plan. "I just… thought you should know, so it would not startle you."

He began brushing at imaginary specks on his tunic, not wanting to see her reaction or think about his slipping hold over his lyrium talent. _She is far too accepting of the dangers of these markings. I owe her a debt and I am to protect her. I cannot do that, cannot allow myself to get close unless I can master this. Far better for her if I am distant yet she remains alive._

"Oh. Like you did when we fought Arvaraad?" she asked, looking a little confused.

Fenris froze, still not looking up from attending his tunic. _I do not remember it, but… perhaps I did. I relied heavily on… instinct in that battle, and Danarius often made me use my markings in that fashion when I fought qunari in Seheron. _The reminder of that blind instinct rattled him, and he remained silent.

"That… that sounds like a good plan," Hawke finally said when he did not respond. Beyond relieved that the conversation had not taken the turn she had feared, she tried not to pop her waterskin again as she thought instead of seeing Fenris's markings alight. The idea rather threatened to undo her composure.

_I will need to take extra care not to be distracted by him in battle, then. But Andraste's flaming asscheeks, he does not make things easy on me. When he is near, I want to touch him, and when he is distant, I want to just devour him with my eyes… _

She realized she was doing so even then, wondering if his chest, back and side marking would be visible through his armor. _It was daylight when we fought Arvaarad, and I was yards away. And I was paying much too close attention to his hands when he opened that bottle of Agreggio. But,_ _I already know from last night that I can see his markings through his leggings, if only faintly…_

She was forced to take a quick drink of water, carefully turning away from Fenris to avoid distraction. _Maker, what a trying day this has been already. How much more can I bear before __**I**__ burst?_

Shaking off her selfish thoughts and thinking instead of Fenris's struggles, a question occurred to Hawke. She saw that Anders and Varric were on their way back over with Bodahn close behind, so she stepped nearer, keeping her voice low.

"Does this have something to do with… last night and this morning?" she asked hesitantly, searching his face, worry and compassion plain on her own. "I know you said last night it… happens sometimes. And now it's… happened three times in less than the span of a day."

As she spoke, she twisted closed the stopper of her waterskin to keep from reaching up to brush Fenris's hair back and to prevent herself from caressing his cheek when he grimaced.

"Something like that… yes," Fenris replied, with a heavy, unuttered sigh in his voice. "It's… complicated." _Of course she would make the connection — she is too cunning by half for me to keep anything from her. _He wondered briefly if she had figured out the reason for his first, solitary lyrium flare, but found he was unable to glance at her to read the answer in her expression.

_Better for her to suspect my lone pursuits than for me to pursue her instead, possibly causing her harm. _He curled his hands into fists as the sound of footsteps approached them from behind. _No, I will find some way to control this, to regain my focus. _Fenris set his face into a calm mask and finally turned his gaze back to Hawke, not really sure what he should say, but feeling he should say something.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly before he could speak. "If there's anything I can do… or not do… just tell me." _So this really is all my fault. The last thing I wanted to do is cause him more trouble after everything he's been through. _She hung her waterskin from her belt again and clasped her hands in front of her.

Face hidden as Hawke once more stared down at her feet, Fenris could still hear the mixed emotions plain in her voice — tenderness, concern, hesitation.

His chest constricted at her words, and it suddenly dawned on him that he was undoubtedly the reason for her nervousness, her changes in mood, her sadness. He remembered the look in her eyes when she had asked him on the road from Kirkwall if he wanted her to go away. _No. Despite all of this, it feels… right. Yet… this morning I told her to go. _

Then he thought of how she had pleaded with him not to go last night, while he was in the midst of struggling to extinguish his spiraling emotions. _I could not even make myself let her go, then. And now I pull away from her. It is no wonder she is uneasy. _He suppressed a sigh.

_And yet she keeps returning. And so do I, _he thought, not for the first time. Though the familiar phrase stirred up his tumultuous emotions again, Fenris still lifted a hand, wanting to carefully tuck her hair behind her ear again in a subtle sign of reassurance.

But a hefty, cloth napkin-wrapped bundle was deposited in his hand, a prodigious helping of rations delivered by a bustling Bodahn.

Though his expression was not as bright as usual, the dwarf still smiled up at Hawke as he nudged her bundled rations against her clasped hands. "There you go, my friends! So sorry about that. Without my boy here to help me wrap them up, it took a little longer. Oh, I do hope he's all right…" As soon as his hands were empty again, the cook began to wring them.

Hawke put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "We'll head out right now to bring him back, no worries, Bodahn. Thank you for the sandwiches."

He nodded, trying to keep the worry from his face and voice. "Ham, cheese, and mustard, just like you mentioned. I did not forget!" His head swung up to regard Fenris with a broad smile. "And of course, a few extras for your, ah… tall friend, here. Also as you asked."

Fenris felt his eyebrow going up as he realized that Hawke had apparently not only told Bodahn about his sandwich preferences, but that she had also arranged to keep him well-fed at each meal.

_She is unlike any woman I have ever met, _he thought immediately, glancing at her. However, he pointedly refused to think about the only other woman he'd interacted with often enough to be compared to Hawke._ There is no comparison between Hadriana and Hawke. Danarius's star pupil is more a viper than a woman._

Putting the dark memories out of his mind and falling back on etiquette, Fenris gave the dwarf cook a small smile and inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, Bodahn. I am sure it will be up to your usual fine standards. I appreciate it." _No, this dwarf is not so bad, even if his son is a little… odd._

Bodahn waved a dissembling gesture, but his sad face lit up a little. "Oh. I am glad that you like it, though it is just a sandwich. Well, several sandwiches. But, anything for you and messere Hawke." The dwarf glanced back at an unusually silent Hawke, whose expression was distant as she obliquely observed the exchange.

Picking up that he'd perhaps intruded on a private conversation, Bodahn began to back out of the way to return to his fretting. "I'll… just leave you to your work. I do hope nothing happened to the boy. The thought that he's out there, wandering…"

He wandered away himself then, going back to his cook tent to find something to busy himself with while waiting for word of Sandal.

"I suppose we should get going," Hawke said quietly, already untying her lunch bundle, exposing a corner of the rolled flatbread sandwich that Bodahn had prepared for their lunch rations.

Anders and Varric, who had been swapping complaints with each other and talking about how much they looked forward to having a few ales that night, turned towards the cavern entrance without halting their friendly conversation. They began walking back to the main Deep Roads passage, Hawke following. Without looking at Fenris, she began taking a mournful bite of her food as she walked.

Steeling himself carefully, Fenris took several long strides to get in front of her. Forced to pull up short, she looked up at him finally.

"Do not worry, Hawke," he said meaningfully, just loud enough for her to hear.

The act of reassuring her seemed to reassure himself, and Fenris grew a little more confident that he could hold his lyrium talent at bay for a while longer. _Given time, I will get used to this. I will find some way to master it. Hawke is rare and precious, and I will not abandon her out of fear._

Her eyes regarded him with mild astonishment for a moment, no longer chewing her bite of sandwich. Fenris smiled at the look on her face, quickly unclasping and removing his glove before reaching into his left vambrace to pull out her handkerchief. He used it to brush a few crumbs and a speck of mustard from the corner of her mouth.

_At least it is not just me,_ he thought with affectionate amusement.

Even through the handkerchief, he could feel her smile against his thumb when she grew embarrassed and chuckled softly. He reluctantly pulled back and put folded the cloth away again. _Perhaps that will put her mind at ease until I am able to show her properly what her concern means to me._

She quickly took his bundle of rations from him, inclining her head at his other, still-gloved hand. "May as well take the other one off. Who knows, we may run into darkspawn right around the corner, and you have several sandwiches there to eat. Best get to it." Her eyes twinkled, and Fenris hastily looked away to comply when he noticed that her gaze seemed to linger on his lips.

While he removed his other glove and tucked the pair into the side of his belt, they resumed walking, quickly catching up with Anders and Varric, who were also already digging into their lunches as they walked. Hawke handed Fenris back his untied but still-wrapped bundle of sandwiches and he accepted them from her gratefully.

"That's not fair," Anders complained through a mouthful of food as he looked over his shoulder and observed Fenris's feast. "I thought the whole point of rations is that everyone gets the same amount."

Hawke sighed. "Anders, I got you extra ones too. And if you'd look in your _hand _instead of eying Fenris's lunch, you would see that. Maker, of all people down here besides you, of course I would know mages need a bit extra for keeping up their mana… Have a little _trust_."

Feeling smug at her chastising Anders for not having faith in her, Fenris relented in narrowing his eyes at the apostate to glance at Hawke. _I, too, know only too well the appetites of mages,_ he thought sourly, thinking of the long hours of standing guard beside Danarius while the magister feasted.

Naturally, he himself could never eat until Danarius had dismissed him, and often that left Fenris with nothing but cold, meager scraps from the slaves' galley — if there was even anything left. _Even if she did nothing else, I would be grateful to Hawke for keeping me so well-fed, _he decided, remembering the awful, too-hollow feeling in his stomach that had seemed always present when he was a slave, and even more days than he cared to think of when he was on the run.

Then Fenris put the bleak thoughts out of his mind and began to eat, firmly deciding not to depress his own appetite when battle almost undoubtedly loomed before them.

Anders looked down at the bundle in his hand, fully flipping back the cloth. "Ah. I see. Thank you, then. I had thought the other one perhaps a pickle. I am not used to Bodahn's… flatbread… rolled sandwich… thingies." Though he wrinkled his brow in curiosity before taking another bite of his lunch, the mage seemed to be a little more satisfied with his rations now.

"Hmph. What I wouldn't give for some roast nug instead of another damn sandwich," Varric groused. "In fact, everyone keep a keen eye out for wild nugs. There's bound to be some scampering around somewhere down here."

The others cast skeptical eyes about the lava-lit tunnel, looking a little apprehensive and not at all keen.

Varric just considered his own sandwich with a sigh, muttering, "Bartrand throwing fits, being surrounded by people taller than me, sandwiches for lunch… heh. It's like being a kid again. Mother never cooked when there was a bottle handy, so I've probably eaten a mountain of sandwiches. Well, at least half a mountain. If that mountain was Sundermount." He snorted. "Hell, I am probably half-dwarf, half-sandwich."

Between bites, Hawke corrected with a laugh, "More like, one-third dwarf, one-third ale, one-third sandwich."

"Or a quarter dwarf, ale, sandwich, and prevaricator," Fenris joined in, mood once again buoyed by mealtime and Hawke's own improved mood.

Varric barked a laugh, glancing back over his shoulder at him. "Hah! The broody elf speaks! The wonders of the Deep Roads never cease." Fenris just keep eating his sandwich, staring narrowly back at the dwarf. "But I prefer the term 'storyteller,'" Varric continued. "Has a nicer ring."

"I thought prevaricator was rather fitting. It even has your name in it," Fenris countered. He used the same mock-serious tone that he always used on Hawke. "It sounds much better than liar."

Hawke chuckled, having thought the same exact word applied a little too well to Varric some days ago. _Fenris and I seem to think a little a like… _she thought with amusement, a private smile dimpling her cheeks.

Varric laughed again without looking back, apparently picking up on Fenris's ribbing. "Lies are just facts made interesting, elf." He waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, didn't we meet you thinking we were about to strike it rich smuggling lyrium under the noses of the Carta, Coterie, and Templars? If that little bait and switch wasn't a falsehood, then I'm Empress Celene of Orlais."

Starting in on his second sandwich, Fenris said with a chuckle, "Hmm… You have me there." _I forget Varric is rather roguish himself. Like Hawke, he is too clever by half for his own good. Still, far better than his brother. Or those Carta dwarves…_

Hawke laughed at the exchange, shaking her head. "Now I am picturing you in an Orlesian silk gown, Varric. A periwinkle blue one. I must say, in my mind's eye you look quite fetching."

Varric began to sashay with one hand held out daintily in a very Orlesian manner. "Is the bodice low? Otherwise it would be a waste of this fine chest hair."

They all chuckled except for Anders, who made a disgusted noise. "I'm _trying_ to eat here."

"Says the scruffy guy in a knee-length skirt with his shoulders draped in feathers," Varric retorted, glancing up at Anders's mage robes with an arched eyebrow. His voice dropped to a sarcastic mutter. "Right… remind me to get the name of your tailor from you when we get back to Kirkwall. So I know where _not_ to go."

_I quite agree_, Fenris thought amiably, having long ago decided that mages' robes, Anders's in particular, looked rather foolish — especially on men.

"Ooh, that reminds me," Hawke said. She paused in biting off her last bit of sandwich, face going instead a little greedy and ponderous. "If I wind up a noble, I suppose I will have to go shopping for all new clothes…"

"Oh, Maker," Varric groaned. "Here we go. Women and shopping." Hawke lowered her sandwich to frown at the dwarf, but he just glanced over at her with an unapologetic look. "You should talk to Rivaini about that, Hawke. She knows all the clothiers in Kirkwall — somehow. She doesn't seem to wear enough to explain that, but… there you have it."

"Too right you are," Anders agreed, a little too cheerfully. "That Isabela…" He shook his head in wonderment.

Hawke's expression immediately went dark and dangerous. "_Anders!_ I'm surprised at you!" she said, a little sharply.

Sounding somewhat defensive, he replied, "What? She's forward, and I can't help it if I have eyes."

Fenris kept his face very carefully neutral. Knowing her jealous streak and venturing that she also extended it on behalf of her sister, Bethany, he decided to leave Anders the brunt of Hawke's displeasure. _Isabela is indeed… very forward. And much of her… sticks out forward, as well. _Wryly, he mused,_ She seems to embody the sailor's phrase, 'Any port in a storm.' I suppose if one was feeling adventurous, or desperate, enough… _

Hawke scowled over at the apostate. "By the Maker, not that, 'I couldn't help it' line. Men always use that line. My brother used that line." She viciously crammed the last of her sandwich into her mouth. "I _hate_ that line," she mumbled around her food, chewing angrily.

Varric stayed well out of the conversation, and Anders remained quiet, attending meekly to the rest of his lunch.

Looking over at Hawke, Fenris thought of the way the Rivaini woman relentlessly pestered him. _Isabela may have set free a boatload of slaves, but between her aggressive advances and her fickle nature, I doubt it would go very far. _Hawke turned her suspicious and angry glare on him at that moment, and he felt himself straighten, standing up a little taller. _Not that I am not… loyal to Hawke, _he added quickly, as if she could read his thoughts.

Hawke turned away and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before shaking it out and folding it away into a pouch at her belt. As Fenris watched her, wariness turning to appreciativeness, she brushed her hands over her armor to dislodge any crumbs, then took a long drink of water.

_No,_ Fenris thought, barely tasting his sandwich as he chewed. _Hawke is more woman than I seem capable of handling at present._

"Men," she huffed again once she'd lowered her waterskin, scrubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Well, I suppose I'd better get used to it. No doubt Mother will have me in dresses, going to dinners, parties, and Maker knows what else every night, hobnobbing and rubbing elbows with the nobility."

It was Fenris's turn for dark and dangerous expressions. _Those noblemen had better keep their elbows and everything else to themselves_, he thought grimly. Even on his infrequent nighttime excursions around Hightown, he had seen only too often the sorts of things the Kirkwall nobility got up to once darkness fell. _They assume that because it is dark, no one can see or hear them. They way some of them conduct themselves… I would hope Hawke is not the kind of woman who would allow herself to get into such situations._

Fenris felt mustard oozing out onto his palm from where he had viciously squeezed his last sandwich, and he hastily relaxed his death-grip on it. Deciding to finish it off despite the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, he thought, _ I do not know anything about… courting, but even I know I could hardly escort her to these… noble functions. I am an elf, and a squatter in Hightown besides. I cannot remain inconspicuous by going to… parties._

Hawke ran her fingers through her hair sharply then tossed it back before pulling her gloves on. Fenris glanced over at her, growing less apprehensive as he considered how she looked more than ready to do battle in her fine armor, easily capable of defending herself. _No, she should be fine. She has not shown interest in anyone else. Perhaps it will remain so, despite… everything. _He couldn't bring himself to recall her rephrasing of his verse just yet, though the quiet knowledge that she'd said her heart was bound to him gave him a thread of hope.

As if reading his mind again, Hawke added firmly, "I have no interest in noblemen. Mother may want to marry me off to some gentleman, but Father always used to say, 'You'll find few to no gentleman among the nobility.' Mother always protested, but, Andraste's sodden socks… _Gamlen_ used to be a noble."

Varric made a loud grunt of assent. "Nobles. All most of them do is swan about Hightown, spending a lot of money and complaining. You'd better not turn into one of them, Hawke. No one will believe my stories if you stop coming to The Hanged Man and start swooning at the mere sight of a few drunken louts."

"When have you ever seen me swooning _or _swanning?" She snorted in a terribly ignoble way. "Besides, I'm from Ferelden, and most of _them_ are Orlesian. They'll probably all whisper behind my back how I smell like wet dog, and barbarously dare to be seen wearing pants and armor, that I'm secretly a man or something…"

Fenris wiped his face and hands off with his napkin, carefully keeping his expression and tone guarded, with just a hint of teasing. "Perhaps you should wear skirts more often, then. I'm sure it would help with the rumors. And… the swanning." Hawke looked over her shoulder, and he gestured vaguely to her armored skirt.

Running a hand down her skirted thigh, she gave him a wry smile and began walking with a bit more sway to her hips. "Oh? Well, your advice has never led me astray so far, Fenris… I'll have seriously consider it, now." _The way his hand was on my knee up in the oak tree the other day… Maker. Hmm, perhaps he is right._

Fenris blinked a little, raising an eyebrow at her enthusiastic responsiveness. _I had not thought to have the opportunity to make the suggestion — nor had I thought that she would be so… receptive to it. _The idea that his opinion mattered to her, and the thought of her in fine, short skirts, set his pulse racing, and his throat began to close off.

"Just a suggestion," he added dryly, trying to sound dismissive — but not _too_ dismissive. "Just thinking of your own priorities, after all – woman, first…" Trailing off, Fenris pulled out his waterskin and took a quick drink to wet his mouth, looking away so he would not choke or spill as her smile deepened at their private joke.

"Definitely something silk," she said, smirking privately back at him. "I find I enjoy the feel of it beneath my fingers."

_Festis bei umo canavarum… Will all our mealtimes be such a torment for me? _Fenris wondered, glad for once that the others were around.

"_I_ think you look fine in whatever you choose to wear, Marian," Anders chimed in as he finished his lunch. He brushed his hands off and removed his staff from where he had tucked it under one arm. "Don't let others dictate how you choose to live your life." He shot a narrow glare back at Fenris, who returned the courtesy with eyes that went tight and flat.

"Thank you, Anders, that is very nice of you to say," Hawke replied absentmindedly as they stopped in front of the furthest abandoned side-passage. She poked her head around the corner to peer into the dark depths.

_Ingratiating prig of a mage,_ Fenris thought hotly, fighting to keep his emotions from getting away from him. He focused instead on pulling his gloves on, removing one vambrace at a time and trying not to think about the way Hawke enjoyed fondling them.

"Well, let's be thorough but quick in checking these side tunnels," Hawke said, drawing out her daggers and sounding the picture of professionalism. "I had hoped we'd come across him as we backtracked, but… The longer Sandal is missing, the worse his chances."

Anders lit his staff with a blue glow bright enough to illuminate the side passage, and Varric pulled Bianca out.

Dropping into a more wary, serious frame of mind, Fenris drew up beside Hawke, keeping his keen eyes and ears open for any sign of darkspawn, the missing dwarf, or a way that would take them around the collapsed way forward. Having a focus other than Hawke helped maintain his calm, just as it had most of the morning.

They entered the narrow passage in a tight group, then quickly spread out to scan the tunnel walls and look for a way through. But the massive blocks of stone and large chunks of rubble that soon blocked the path ahead seemed impenetrable. Neither were there cracks or openings wide enough for even a dwarf like Sandal to crawl through.

"Dead end," Varric finally said.

"Agreed," Hawke sighed, then lead them back out, angling across the tunnel back the way they had come to check another side passage.

They worked their way up again, towards the expedition campsite in this fashion, exploring each tunnel and passage, checking if the Carta scouts had overlooked something and hoping find Sandal wandering around. For the better part of a frustrating hour, they came upon dead ends, collapsed tunnels, crumbling bridges, gaping chasms where the floor had simply fallen away into darkness, and most disturbingly, increasing signs of darkspawn.

"I did not notice this when I was here with Grim," Hawke said, leaning into squint with concern at a large, dark patch of oily residue that almost seemed to crawl up the wall of one of the tunnels from a fetid pool on the floor.

Anders came over, staff more clearly illuminating the oddly iridescent coating that gave off an almost palpably hostile feel. His brow creased with concern. "Yes, that is blight all right. I can sense darkspawn in the area, so it is hardly surprising. Still, it is unfortunate you did not notice this earlier. Bartrand's choice of camp was very unwise." Hawke chewed on her lip a little, looking displeased with herself.

"No doubt the torchlight blinded you to it, Hawke," Fenris explained, refusing to look at the intrusive mage. "Carrying a torch may illuminate the way around you, but it often makes it difficult to see things out in the darkness beyond its influence. That is why I prefer not to carry one, myself."

Hawke looked a little less disheartened at that, so he turned to study and frown at the despoiled stone, rubbing at his chin as he wondered when they would encounter darkspawn. _Soon, no doubt. And I am more than ready._

"It is good that we have Anders here to light our way more evenly, then," she finally said, giving the mage an apologetic smile. He returned it fondly, and Fenris felt his teeth begin to ache.

Hawke quickly turned back to him, however, smile deepening. "And you too, Fenris, to catch everything in the dark. With your… beautiful eyes." She paused until he looked into her own beautiful eyes. "So keen, and… dew-kissed mossy."

Anders sighed quietly, his eyes rolling as he turned away. He moved a few feet off to stand by Varric, who was concernedly eying an errant scratch on Bianca's stock and muttering to himself about it.

Fenris felt one corner of his mouth turn up at Hawke's compliment, and he suddenly felt he'd gotten far and away the better end of her silver-tongue than Anders.

"I will not miss anything, Hawke, do not worry." Then he let his voice become teasing. "Now that it is past lunchtime, I no longer need to keep my eye on you. But if you rely on me so, perhaps I should."

Hawke giggled, remembering how he swore that morning to watch her after she'd claimed befuddlement. _Well, it is good to know even if needed time to think and he's a little reluctant to touch, he was still paying attention._

Fenris's cocky smile deepened at the sound of her rare giggling. He lifted his hands and made tight, clawed fists, squaring his shoulders a little. "Between us," he declared rather boldly, flashing her a dangerous look, "the darkspawn will not stand a chance."

"My lunch doesn't stand a chance… of staying down," Anders muttered.

It was just loud enough that Fenris could make it out, but Hawke either ignored it or did not hear it with her attention so focused on him. Fenris dropped his hands, eyes flicking upward as he fought not to charge the apostate from behind and expend some of his lyrium fuel a bit early.

"Oh my," Hawke responded flirtatiously, distracting him from his irritation. "Well, this is a first. I have never wanted to run into darkspawn so badly." She gave Fenris a lingering smile as she moved back to the entrance of the passage.

_Me either, _he thought, following close behind her with Varric and Anders bringing up the rear.

After another weary hour of searching, they had worked all the way back up the main Deep Roads passage, past the expedition campsite and over to where the bridge had long ago collapsed. The last tunnel to check was the one where Fenris's scouting partner had declared the tall, strong elf too big to move around comfortably with and had sent him off — before inadvertently triggering the cave-in.

"When you've lost something, you always find it in the last place you look, right?" Hawke mused hopefully as she led their small group into the narrow, low tunnel. "Just about wide enough for the carts to pass through, but not much room besides."

The sides of the tunnel were finished stone blocks, much like the walls in the main Deep Roads passage, but the floor and ceiling were still rough hewn. It seemed the ancient dwarves had abandoned construction of it, untold centuries ago.

"It widens a little as you go, but not by much," Fenris answered grimly, hunching a little more than usual to keep from scraping the top of his head against the ceiling. They eventually passed the point where he had been ordered to turn back, though the tunnel did continue to open up slowly — until it abruptly ended.

"I will not be sorry to see daylight again," Varric sighed heavily in frustration. Anders silently lifted his staff higher, channeling more magic into it and brightly illuminating the now-dead end.

"Well, I hate to admit it," Hawke said, rubbing at her brow as they stared up at the fresh wall of rubble before them, "but I suppose our silent scouts did know what they were about. Not a one of these tunnels led anywhere good."

"This passage might have, if that dwarf hadn't brought the ceiling down," Fenris pointed out, scowling. "I do not know why he sent me back. I might have been able to prevent this."

Hawke turned with a gentle expression on her face, voice soft. "It might have been for the best — you could have gotten buried in this." _I love him. I would not be able to live with myself if something happened to him down here. He is only here because of me, after all. _

Fenris scratched carefully at the back of his neck, averting his gaze from the tender look in her eyes. _Her concern is touching, but I must remain in control. _He cleared his throat, then began to scan the tunnel walls.

"Hmm, perhaps. Still, there must be some way through or around. We have not come across the missing dwarf yet, after all. He is simple, but I do not think he is so simple as to dive into that river of molten rock. Probably."

Varric drifted over to the far wall, a look of concentration on his face. He edged his way from the wall of rubble back down towards the way they had entered. "Hey. Elf," he finally said. "Come over here for a minute, would you?"

As he walked over to where the dwarf stood looking at an unremarkable section of finished wall, Fenris looked about, feeling suddenly wary. "Something… is strange," he said almost to himself, brow furrowing.

"I thought so," Varric agreed. "It's like I can smell something… weird, and there's this fast moving breeze coming from out of nowhere.

Fenris took a deep whiff, though he was reluctant to do so with the general discomforting odor of the Deep Roads. "Yes, it is… peculiar. It smells much like… those patches of blight." He cast his eye around for more of the black filth, but the only thing out of the ordinary along the stretch of tunnel was a pile of loose stone blocks sitting several paces further down the wall.

"Darkspawn," Anders said gravely from where he still stood in the center of the passage.

Hawke turned and considered the section of wall that Varric and Fenris cast their eyes over. Then her gaze slid further down the way they had come. "That pile of finished stones there, the ones that look like they were abandoned halfway through construction." She turned to Anders. "Extinguish the light for a moment."

Fenris and Varric looked over their shoulders just as Anders nodded and released the magic that lit his staff. The deep passage was plunged into utter darkness in an instant — except for a few dim shafts of light coming from around the pile of blocks.

"Shit," Varric cursed into the blackness. "The ceilings, the floors… now you can't even trust the walls down here. I figured this whole thing was just a finished section of the tunnel." He sighed. "Guess my dwarven stone-sense got misplaced along with my noble caste pin."

"That looks just big enough for Sandal to go through," Hawke ventured, voice drawing nearer. Guided by the dull glow of light, she quickly walked over to the pile of blocks, pointing with the toe of her boot at the space where they looked a bit shifted around the near edge of the heap.

"We could not see this with so much _light_," Fenris said tightly, directing his voice to where Anders stood. "The shadows were too deep, and we came from the wrong direction to observe it on our way past." Eyes already adjusted to the darkness, he went to Hawke and crouched on the other side of the pile. After removing his gloves, he began shoving stones out of the way to unblock the gap.

Hawke knelt, shifting blocks from her side too as Anders's staff relit the space more moderately. "Why would the ancient dwarves block this up?" she asked, trying to peer into the hole.

"Who knows," Varric answered with a shrug. "The ancestors made a lot of crazy decisions after the darkspawn showed up — retreating to Orzammar, collapsing as many tunnels as they could, abandoning all the other thaigs…"

The excitement and hunger in his tone began to grow rather obvious. "If we're lucky, this is a sign that one of the lost ones is somewhere ahead. They often took their defenses into their own hands, trying to hide themselves away. Other expeditions have sometimes found them behind hidden passages."

Fenris leaned down to look through the low, now-exposed opening, quickly surveying the interior of a cavern. "The light is coming from lit torches and campfires," he observed. "Somehow, I doubt the missing dwarf was cunning enough to slip by us with a stack of torches and firewood… meaning that we are not alone." He glanced over at Hawke. "Darkspawn. Another charming gift from the magisters." She nodded, expression grim.

"I swore I would never come down here again," Anders grumbled. "Balls."

Hawke pulled her daggers free, moving forward in a crouch towards the gap. "I'll go through first."

Fenris put an arm out to block her path. "Wait for me, Hawke."

She glanced down at his bare hand, noting his lack of gloves. "Oh, yes. Of course."

She almost put her daggers away, ready to receive and hold his vambraces for him, then realized that he was unlikely to want her assistance for the time being. So, while Fenris attended to putting his gauntlets back on himself, she glanced up at Varric and Anders instead. "You two think you'll be able to fit through here?"

Varric eyed the gap, pulling his duster closed and cinching the belt for the first time she had ever witnessed. "It might be a bit of a tight squeeze for me, but… yeah, probably."

"I could blast it open with a fireball," Anders offered. "Then we could walk through."

"And bring the rest of this tunnel down on our heads, or alert the darkspawn?" Fenris pointed out angrily, snapping his second vambrace back on. He pulled his sword free from where it was hooked on his back. "And here I was always told mages were more intelligent than the rest of us…"

"If this really is a way around, we'll let Bartrand handle excavating a way through, Anders. It will be safer," Hawke explained more reasonably.

Anders's tone was a rather snide one regardless. "Very well… I'll try not to destroy us all with my stupidity in the meantime, then."

"Anders…" Hawke sighed.

Taking her moment of distraction, Fenris quickly pushed his sword through the gap, then quietly slithered behind it on his stomach. As he rose to a cautious crouch in the corner created by the wall blocking the entrance to the side cavern, he heard Hawke swearing softly. After but a few moments, she slid through after him.

"Now who isn't waiting," she whispered to him when she stood, fixing him with an arch look. Then she cast her eye around the dim, long-abandoned mining cave. "Well, this is a cheery sort of place, isn't it?"

Fenris was too wound up with the thought of approaching battle to respond. The lyrium in his flesh almost burned with the desire to finally release his strongly pulsing emotions. _Soon… This must work. It will work. We cannot continue like this. I must keep Hawke from harm. _

Anders wriggled through after her, staff dimmed in caution, and together he and Hawke each took one of Varric's hands and helped haul him in. The dwarf reached back through the opening and carefully lifted Bianca through to avoid further scratching the crossbow.

"There, there. When we get back to Kirkwall, I am going to get you the best polish money can buy, Bianca," he cooed to his weapon before readying it.

Hawke and Fenris crept forward together, heading around what turned out to be a broad ledge ringing an old mining pit. Even as they scanned for danger, an eerie mix of scuffling, hissing, and clinking began to echo around the cavern.

"They're here," Anders announced quietly, raising his staff. "And they're coming. Something has set them off. Prepare yourselves." He concentrated to cast a spell, and a shield of arcane magic sprang up, the familiar shimmering bubbles popping around each of them to settle against their skin.

Hurlocks with crude, wicked blades and odd crossbows streamed into the pit below, their vicious, nightmarish faces illuminated by the glow of their campfires and torches. Varric sidled up to the edge of their group's high vantage point, gleefully ratcheting Bianca and raining bolts down upon them. Anders joined him, sending a firestorm of spells down on the group, which began to scatter as soon as they were assailed.

"The stairs," Hawke said to Fenris, inclining her head to a rickety set of wooden steps that led up from the old mined-out pit to their ledge. "If we hold them, we can choke them off and keep the entire wave from slamming into us."

Fenris nodded and quickly led the way, taking a deep breath to steel himself for the upcoming battle. His mind settled into a calm almost instantly, though he could still feel the constricting knot of emotions that marked his pent-up feelings, spurred on by concern and admiration for Hawke. As he stood at the top of the steps and the first darkspawn clambered up to attack, he became cool and dispassionate, just as he always remembered being when in battle — except now for that deep core of emotions that had gradually crept up on him over the past three weeks.

_It was never like this with Danarius. It was never like this when I fought only for myself. I am here for her, and it feels __**right**_**.** A hum in his hears began to grow in volume and pitch, and Fenris raised his sword in his hands, the sword Hawke had gifted him, as he finally let loose everything that had built up inside him over the past three days of knowing her touch.

There had been no battles, no fighting, almost no real challenge in that short time. Nothing beyond a long road, a footrace, climbing a tree, and the relentless, subtle weariness of enduring the Deep Roads. Yet, though Hawke's constant presence brought Fenris a peace like he had never before known, it had also roused many deep things within him — things he had forgotten, things he never knew, things he had never thought he could know.

From three long years of fighting, he knew he would be able to hold onto the peace; only once since leaving Danarius's service could he remember having killed and being unable to eventually find peace in it. But all the tumult, frustration, and pent-up rage at having his life stolen, at having to struggle at every turn, at having to hold back and cage himself when he wanted only freedom — that he would gladly rid himself of, expending and inflicting it wholly on the darkspawn who now mindlessly sought to face him.

As he bellowed a growling, wordless challenge to the screeching pack of twisted monsters that charged up the stairs, Fenris's lyrium markings blazed forth, illuminating him from within, limning him with a silver-blue light. The darkspawn did not slow, but they shielded their eyes from the sudden, strange light, making guttural utterances of hate and malice. For the first time in years, Fenris consciously let his whole body phase, then set to ruthlessly sweeping the blunt edge of his sword through the first wave of creatures, scattering them back. _Yes! This feels right._

Hawke, who had placed herself at the top of the stairs just to the right of him in a cautious crouch, blinked a little at the sudden lack of darkness. "Maker's breath."

She quickly shook herself out of her reverie, moving to follow as Fenris drove back the advancing tide of enemies. Slipping quietly down beside him but trusting that he would know she was there as he always seemed to, she stealthily attacked any foes that managed to make it around his relentless assault seeking to flank him or take Varric and Anders down.

Their two other companions continued to rain attacks down on the darkspawn at the rear of the pack, focusing on the bolters who were turning their ranged attacks on Fenris. With his markings shining in the dark cavern, he stood out foremost among them all as a target.

Hawke stabbed down at the neck of a hurlock that tried to climb the steps from the side, narrowly managing to keep its clawed hand from grasping her ankle and pulling her bodily from her rickety perch. "I had better be swimming in gold after all this…" she muttered.

"Vishante kaffar!" Fenris spat as he savagely brought the pointed pommel of his weapon down on the scaly skull of a darkspawn that clawed at him from his own side of the steps. Another broke through the rear ranks and came in low, scrambling to tackle him about the waist, but he easily sidestepped. The darkspawn's strangely armored hand grazed his side, but instead of grasping him or tearing his flesh, it passed _through_ Fenris rather slowly. The enthralled monster could not make sense of this and merely grabbed for him again, only to have its head cleaved from its neck by the return sideswipe of Fenris's sword.

Fenris smiled grimly at the effectiveness of his skill, then whirled as yet another hurlock rushed up, wicked, zig-zagged, black blade held poised for a vicious downswing, aimed right for his head. He recoiled instinctively, taking a single step back and moving up a stair, trying to bring his sword up in time to block the blow. But before he could raise it halfway, Hawke popped up from beneath, sending both her daggers deep into the darkspawn's chest, blades angled to slip into the gaps of its oddly angular metal armor.

"One more for me. We're keeping score, right?" she said with a grin as she yanked her weapons free. She left the body to fall off the steps and into a growing heap alongside on the pit floor below.

Fenris laughed from deep within his chest, feeling unrestrained with the mixture of adrenaline, battlelust, and the freedom of burning off his frustrations coursing through him. Wordlessly, he and Hawke advanced together, slaying the last few flagging darkspawn who flailed about at the bottom of the stairs wounded by magic or crossbow bolts.

As the last, high screech of the dying creatures faded, Fenris finally let his lyrium markings extinguish, finding it markedly easier to do so than before.

"We are victorious," he declared. He also felt the surge of his own personal victory within.

_Yes. This feels right. I have shunned using my markings like this after everything Danarius inflicted on me. But it feels right, now. Perhaps it has been long enough, perhaps I have run far enough that I can finally leave something of my past behind for good. _

He looked at Hawke, who was leaning down to wipe black blood off her daggers onto the long, ragged loincloth of a dead darkspawn. _Perhaps there is a chance of me living as a free man does after all._

"Andraste's burning buttcheeks, elf, what _was_ that?" asked Varric, carefully making his way down the stairs. "I thought you were going to start ripping hearts out left and right, but you just kept fighting and glowing and shit." Fenris lifted an eyebrow, regarding the dwarf flatly, so Varric paused halfway up the steps, holding both his hands out. "Not that it wasn't impressive, mind you. Just wondering about the light show, is all."

"Yes," drawled Anders, following behind and keeping his eyes on his footing. "I thought you weren't terribly keen on too much light. Yet there you were, lit up like some kind of… lantern or something. It was really distracting, you know."

"It's a new tactic he's trying," Hawke chimed in diplomatically. _I do not need Anders and Fenris getting into a quarrel when there are undoubtedly more darkspawn around. _She gave Fenris a smile. "I think it worked rather spectacularly, myself."

"Spectacle is right," Anders said. "Anyone need any healing, by the way?"

Hawke shook her head and Fenris ignored the question, knowing that he had taken no injuries — just as he'd hoped. He was more than gratified at not needing to feel Anders's healing magic, to say nothing of his relief at being able to burn off much of his frustration. _Yes, this worked out rather well indeed. For once._

"So, elf…" Varric said curiously. "What do you call this new 'tactic' of yours?"

Fenris pointed at the stock of Bianca that poked up over the dwarf's shoulder, dryly observing, "Not _everyone_ names everything, you know."

"Come on… I'm going to have to call it something when I get back to Kirkwall and tell the story of how you singlehandedly killed three dozen darkspawn." Their imaginative companion shrugged as if it was inevitable.

The rest of them cast their eyes around the not-insubstantial number of corpses — still counting nowhere near three dozen.

"What?" he asked defensively when they turned back with incredulous looks. "I want it to be a tale people will easily remember, and three dozen is a nice, round number." He turned back to Fenris with an expectant look. "If you don't name it, elf, I'll have to. I'm giving you a storyteller's courtesy of choosing for yourself."

"Maybe call it… lyrium light," Hawke suggested. "Or… lyrium _splendor_."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Yes, that doesn't sound ridiculous at all." Hawke looked a little dejected at his vehemence, and he sighed heavily when her mouth began to turn down into an unhappy pout. "Did it ever occur to anyone that I do not wish my inflicted abilities spoken about in some… tavern tale?"

Anders snorted dismissively. "Yes, Maker knows _you_ never inflict the tale of your history on others… much." Fenris narrowed his eyes at him, but the mage looked down at Varric. "He obviously enjoys his current dark reputation, so leave it be."

Anders's comment rankled Fenris for many reasons and reminded him of the apostate's snide remarks from the previous two days. '_Fly by night sort, always gone before morning.' Bah. And what did he tell me last night? To go sulk in the dark or haunt another fire? _With Fenris's recent use of his poetic, word game mindset, a suitably ironic name for his ability came suddenly and easily to mind. He decided that he would not let Anders have the last word.

"Lyrium ghost," he announced in a triumphant sneer. Anders's threw his hands up and moved away, face making a disgusted moue.

Hawke started, glancing over at Fenris's resolute face. She remembered her irrational fear from the night before when his lyrium markings had flared and she'd been afraid he would disappear — like a ghost.

_Think alike indeed… _she mused. _I suppose it was bound to happen, with as much time as we've spent together recently. _Even with the rather haunted name he'd chosen for his ability, she found the idea that he'd also thought of it that way oddly thrilling. _Maybe I am starting to really understand him._

"Hmm, that works, I guess," Varric slowly said, scratching at his chin. "Lyrium wraith has a better ring to it, but most folks at the tavern don't know a big word like that. Ghost, though… that's one they've heard of."

"Can we please get _on_ with this?" Anders said, tone exasperated.

"First you do not want to return to the Deep Roads, and now you're so eager to go further in?" Fenris retorted, crossing his arms and just waiting for the next round of ridicule so he could set the mage down properly. _It is hardly a challenge — I need only wait for him to speak. The retorts practically make themselves._

"Of course," Hawke interjected quickly, both remembering their task and wanting to halt the escalation of tension between Anders and Fenris. "We need to look for Sandal. It is not boding well for him with these darkspawn about, but we still need to find a way around, too. They must have come from _somewhere_ ahead, after all."

Temporarily putting aside their differences, Fenris and Anders silently followed Hawke deeper into the abandoned, mined-out cavern. Still, they spread out from one another as far as the space permitted. Varric trailed behind, keeping at range as the cavern opened up.

They ran into several more groups of darkspawn, but they were smaller clusters of two and three. The mindless creatures were easily dispatched between a several whirls of Hawke's stealthy, quick daggers, a few lyrium-lit, scything blows from Fenris's greatsword, or a barrage of well-placed blasts of magic and crossbow bolts.

"I wonder how much the dwarves have simply left behind… or forgotten," Fenris reflected somberly as they curved around an expertly crafted, long-abandoned mining rig. "What race _didn't_ the magisters of the ancient Tevinter Imperium bring the downfall of? And yet they labor on, seeking more power. A mage is never satisfied for long…" He trailed off disgustedly, glancing at Anders.

Hawke eyed Fenris again, thinking back to how she, too, had pondered over the ancient magisters yesterday. _Soon he will be able to read not only my face but also my thoughts. I suppose I should be glad that is not possible unless you're a bloodmage, and that Fenris is pretty much the exact opposite of such. _

_Andraste's naughty knickers but him reading my mind would prove embarrassing. _She paused. _Although it might give him some nice ideas…_

An unnatural, reddish light caught her attention then, snapping her out of her increasingly distracting thoughts. "Hello… what's this?" she mused softly, walking over to a distinctly finished section of wall that strongly resembled the architecture that lined the main Deep Roads passage.

"That's a good sign." Varric walked forward and located a door set into the stone. "The lava lights are even still glowing. Hmph! Maybe somebody's home." He tugged the door open and Hawke stopped in her tracks, standing dumbfounded at the scene beyond.

Fenris walked up behind her, wondering at the look of awe on her face. And then he saw it — and felt it all along his markings. _Venhedis! With all the discomforts of this place, I need another one like I need more markings…_

"Now _that_ is a lot of lyrium," Anders said appreciatively, continuing through the door. His hands went to his hips and he smiled up at the massive branches of pure, raw lyrium that glowed blueish-white and grew out of the very stone. Several thick trunks of it twisted up in a cluster on the far side of the cavern, and there seemed to be an entire tunnel lined with veins of it, leading away.

"Maker's breath. It's a shame that we don't have any way to process the stuff," Varric said greedily. "That right there would be worth several dozen fortunes, even if you just kept things aboveboard and sold it to the Templars."

"Which we would _not_," said Anders, expression darkening as he turned to look down at the dwarf.

"There's… so much of it," Hawke said breathlessly, taking a few steps forward as her eyes traced all along the crystalline tendrils. _They remind me so much of Fenris's markings. The way they vine upwards, branching out. It's almost the same. It's… _

"So very beautiful. The same glow as…"She glanced over at Fenris, then noticed the grim cast to his face. "Fenris. What's wrong?" she asked quietly, while Varric and Anders animatedly discussed lyrium smuggling.

"The… raw lyrium. It feels… unpleasant to be near," he explained tightly. He looked at his hands, trying to ignore the rising, burning tingle and struggling to keep memories of the ritual that placed them there at bay.

_With as extensive as his markings are, and for him to admit that it feels unpleasant must mean that it feels bad indeed, _she thought with deep concern.

"I understand," Hawke replied. "We'll move on as quickly as possible." Their other companions' conversation cut off with a hush from Anders.

"More darkspawn ahead," the former Warden whispered, motioning towards the brightly glowing cave that seemed almost made entirely from raw lyrium. "I can still sense them. They are coming."

Fenris grimly readied his sword, steeling himself against the discomfort of his markings. To his dismay, he also realized he should probably once more hold back his lyrium talent. _Who knows what effect my abilities would have with so much raw lyrium nearby. It seems to resonate with the ink burned into my flesh. _

He felt his mood souring, anger and frustration flooding him again and filling much of what he had just burned off. _What has that magister done to me? I never wanted these! Curse these markings. He will pay for forcing this on me, I swear it… _

He could feel his skin resonating, wanting once again to burst forth with the strange power that he never desired. The hum in Fenris's ears seemed to come almost more from outside himself now, from the raw lyrium, and the foreign sensation snapped him back to the need to focus.

_No, I need to reclaim my grip. I do not want to lose control of myself and inadvertently find out what this raw lyrium would do to me. I cannot risk it._ Fenris glanced over at Hawke, seeking to ground himself with her presence. She was waiting in the shadows, coiled to spring into action, but she gave him a confident nod before turning her attention back to the tunnel.

Her constant, unflagging optimism made him sigh at his own dark struggles. _It never ends… whenever I think I might finally have a chance at freedom, there is always something to remind me of my past. _

As he attempted to settle his thoughts into his deadly, calm, battle-ready frame of mind, Fenris could not help but eye the tall, branching crystalline structures of the natural lyrium. Though he truly tried, he had difficulty seeing the beauty that Hawke saw. _Still, I suppose I should be gratified that my new… lyrium ghost skill seems to help. Even if I already cannot use it. _

"Here they come…" Hawke said as a small group of bloodthirsty hurlocks charged out from the glowing tunnel ahead. Her companions all waited on the far side of the cavern, forcing the creatures to expose themselves. "Four? One for each of us? Oh, this should be easy."

Even as she spoke, more hurlocks crowded into the tunnel, apparently herded on by the tall, wiry form of a darkspawn emissary. The horrific, magic-wielding, intelligent fiend started channeling a sinister fire spell from deep at the other end of the cave, protected and defended by the swarm of darkspawn under its command.

The tide thus turned heavily against their favor, Hawke's companions all scrambled forward to dispatch the horde at the chokepoint of the tunnel entrance instead, before the emissary had a chance to unleash its foul spells on them.

"I just had to open my big mouth…" she muttered as she leapt from stealth to join Fenris in a frenzied attempt to salvage the battle before it had even begun.

_Festis bei umo canavarum. These things always happen when she is around, _he thought with a resigned sigh, once again keeping a close hold on his emotions, and doing his best to ignore the constant burn of his markings. Forced to put aside any plans he once held for the day or night by the many unpleasant surprises of the Deep Roads, Fenris focused once more on the struggle to simply survive.

* * *

The rest of the time they spent exploring the side passage went little better.

"I wish those Carta scouts had been wrong," Hawke muttered, tiredly pulling her blades free from yet another hurlock at the end of yet another clash with the darkspawn.

"Darkspawn, spiders… even bigger, massive, Bethany-swoon-inducing spiders. This really is too dangerous. I think I'd rather take my chances with the river of lava."

"No risk, no reward," Varric muttered half-heartedly.

Anders remained quiet, looking increasingly drawn and weary the more darkspawn they fought and the more magic he had to expend. Hawke was already concerned that he'd had to use two lyrium potions in the past hour alone. And despite the mage's initial enjoyment of discovering the precious resource, the knowledge that merely touching the unprocessed lyrium would kill him instantly forced him to move very cautiously through the richly resplendent cave.

_To say nothing of Fenris…_ She looked over to where he stood quietly in the very center of the space, as far away from the walls as he could get, looking very uncomfortable. _He has not spoken since entering this cavern. I need to get us past all this raw lyrium. It is obviously taking a toll on him._

Hawke cast her eyes around the tunnel, looking for the way out. She found it difficult to see with so much glowing lyrium twisting up from the floor and winding its way down from the ceiling. Even the very rock glowed with the embedded veins that snaked thickly along the walls. She walked a little further on, finally seeing an opening — but sighing in dismay as an even more massive, twisting lyrium structure appeared, shooting up from a stony chasm ahead.

A short figure was standing at the edge of the chasm peering up at the branching formation, his head cocked to one side as he scratched absentmindedly at his bottom.

"Well I'll be a nug's uncle," Varric said in wonderment as he approached. "Isn't that Bodahn's boy?"

Fenris and Anders cautiously drew up behind them and together they all advanced down the sloping tunnel floor towards Sandal. Eyebrows went up all around as they passed well over a dozen hurlock corpses which lay littered and broken around the simple dwarf's feet.

Sandal turned as their footfalls echoed through the newly discovered section of the passage. He greeted them with a simple, "'Allo," bright eyes fixing on Hawke's face.

"Talk about 'dumb luck!'" Anders nudged a booted foot at the body of a facedown darkspawn emissary. "I nearly lost my eyebrows to one of these blighted things. How in blazes did he…?"

Hawke kicked aside a few more bodies, going to a crouch in front of Sandal and looking into his innocent face. "I'd really like to know how you managed to kill all of them," she said with an astonished chuckle.

Sandal smiled when she laughed, holding out a closed fist to her. "Boom."

Fenris drew his brows down in confusion, once again trying and failing to make sense of the odd dwarf. Then he looked to the side, shaking his head slowly. _How did…? No, I give up on this one. _

Hawke looked at the rune that Sandal deposited in her hand, glancing at it before inclining her head to the side. "And how did you do that?"

She, Sandal, Varric and Anders all joined Fenris in staring at a hulking darkspawn ogre that stood frozen in place. Now more a nightmarish ice sculpture than foe, it posed mid-stride and mid-roar with massive arms outstretched.

"Not enchantment!" Sandal explained happily. Then he patted Hawke's hand, the one holding the rune that he had apparently made out of the raw lyrium present in the cavern.

Hawke raised her eyebrows at him, but he just wandered past her. _I guess I was right. He really did just want to make an enchantment… But how in all of Thedas did he know this cave was here? And how did he get past all those darkspawn? Let alone kill so many! And freeze an ogre!_

They all turned to stare after Sandal for a quiet moment as he navigated his way back the way they had just come. He excitedly took in the sight of the natural lyrium cave as he went. "Ooooh, shiny!"

"Smart boy," Varric said ironically. Then he turned back, leaning to look around the frozen ogre to the passage beyond. "Come on. We still need to find a way past that collapse."

* * *

Many weary hours later, the entire expedition was camped well on the other side of the river of lava in a promising section of the Deep Roads that had a distinctively untouched look about it, except for the occasional patches of blight.

"Fifty-nine hurlocks, two darkspawn emissaries, nine giant spiders, two poisonous spiders, one ridiculously monstrous spider, an ogre, nine dragonlings, and one dragon," Varric announced, tallying up the day's work from memory as he scribbled it into the back of his small notebook. "Not counting Bodahn's boy's little feat, of course." He peered up at the ceiling with a calculating look on his face. "Hmm. I'll just multiply it all by three when I tell the tale."

"I would dearly like to know how the ogre we fought got into that small room," Hawke mused tiredly, working at a knot in her shoulder.

She had been thrown to the ground several times by the massive darkspawn they'd run into not long after locating Sandal. Even after putting a few hot compresses on the tender spot while she washed, her shoulder still ached. "It must have wanted to get in there very badly indeed to squeeze its way through the door. Why would it even want to go into such a little space?"

"Maybe the _dragon_ chased it in there," Anders grumbled, fingering the singed half-tail of hair, now more of an eighth-tail, that was bound at the back of his head. "I hate the blighted Deep Roads. Darkspawn are bad enough without adding fire-breathing dragons to the mix. It's going to take months to grow my hair back out. I probably look ridiculous."

"Just be glad it wasn't all of you that went up in a curl of smoke, Blondie." Varric smoothed out his own half-tail of hair in sympathy, chuckling. "Hmm, or maybe I should start calling you Smoky."

"You know I can toss a fireball right at your feet, right? Dwarf or no, I guarantee you _you'd_ lose a bit of hair. Maybe then you wouldn't be so quick to tease me."

"Fine, fine, Blondie it is," Varric said placatingly, raising his third mug of ale for the evening in a toast to Anders. "To your swift recovery, from the bottom of my hairy chest."

Anders begrudgingly drank to that, on his second mug of ale since they'd all returned from eating a well-deserved, hearty dinner a half-hour ago. Then he made his own toast. "To your hairy chest, and my swift recovery if I ever see your bottom."

Hawke laughed, then glanced to where Fenris quietly sat beside her on the bench around their group's campfire, forearms rested on his knees as he stared into the flames. The sight of him outlined in firelight reminded her of spending the day fighting alongside him as he used his lyrium markings.

_Fenris looked positively fierce fighting the ogre and the dragon as a 'lyrium ghost.' He seemed to rather enjoy using his newest learned skill. As beautiful as that raw lyrium cave was, the sight of him alight is far better. I am glad that his tactic appeared to work so well, even if he did not use it as often as I thought he would._

While he was distracted, she quickly drank down her entire tumbler of moon tea that she had discreetly kept beside her on the far side of the bench from him, beyond his notice. Then she leaned forward herself, propping her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

"You're very quiet, Fenris," she observed softly, while Varric and Anders took turns making increasingly rude toasts to one another and laughing a little drunkenly.

Fenris glanced at her briefly before going back to staring at the fire. "I am tired, Hawke. It was a long day, and draining."

_So much fighting. Using my markings burned off much of those restless, pent-up feelings, yet… now I am too weary to enjoy it. And enduring the burning, uneasy feel of all that raw lyrium… _He shook his head slightly to clear away the lingering memory of it and of the ritual that it threatened to bring up.

They had had to move _three_ times through the lyrium-rich side passage that day — the first time through, on the way back to tell Bartrand, and finally once more when the expedition passed. Though most of the detour had significantly less natural lyrium than the overwhelming, glowing tunnel had, Fenris had found it all deeply unsettling nonetheless. _At least it is behind us now. Let us hope that it stays there._

"Of course. I understand. I'm sure all of… this has taken a toll on you," Hawke said quietly, a concerned look on her face. _This is all my doing. He wouldn't be down here if not for me, and he wouldn't have decided to use his markings like that if I hadn't set him off trying to kiss him._

Fenris sighed, straightening to look over at her. "It is not necessarily a bad weariness, Hawke. We achieved much, and you did quite well. Despite the setbacks of the morning, you accomplished everything you set out to do. We would not have gotten this far without you."

"Oh." Her cheeks dimpled as a slow, delighted smile spread across her face. "Flatterer. But I could not have done it without you, either."

"I see. Well…" He favored her in return with a handsome, crooked smile. "Always a pleasure." Fenris looked to their tent, feeling a yawn coming on. "However, you may perhaps have to do it without me tomorrow, if I do not get some rest soon."

Hawke sat up again, shrugging her shoulders and stretching her tired arms back a little. "Normally I am not one for an early bedtime, but in this case I quite agree. Maker, what a day…"

Varric glanced over as he noticed the pair of them shifting on their bench. "Come on, Hawke, elf… Don't you two want to stay up and place some Diamondback or Wicked Grace? It's early yet, and you know Blondie, here, is no challenge for me."

"Hey…" Anders frowned, swirling his ale in his mug. "I'm a good card player. I just seem to have rotten luck."

"Only rank amateurs rely on luck," Varric muttered. "A real gambler makes his own luck."

Fenris was very tempted for a few moments, but his brief flare of competitiveness and the desire to pit his Wicked Grace tactics against the dwarf fled as he stifled a yawn.

Hawke glanced over at him with a knowing smile, then turned back to Varric. "Maybe tomorrow night. But you might want to go easy on the ale — Fenris, here, is quite skilled at Wicked Grace."

One of Varric's eyebrows went up. "Heh, oh really? What does he do, brood at you until you discard the suit he wants out of sheer terror?"

"I _don't_ brood," Fenris replied darkly, scowling. Anders snorted, wobbling a bit on his bench, and Fenris shot him a narrow look too.

Hawke just laughed and shook her head. "You'll see. I'll even go so far as to front his wagers."

The dwarf's eyebrows both shot up at that, giving her star Wicked Grace pupil a more appraising look. "Oh ho, willing to put her money where her mouth is, well, well. I will prepare myself then, serah." He raised his mug to Fenris.

Fenris stood up and inclined his head, careful not to look too cocky. "I will look forward to besting you." _I do not know how the dwarf's own tactics compare to Hawke's, but surely playing against him cannot be half as distracting as playing against her. Still, I will have to be careful — it would not do to lose Hawke's hard-earned coin._

Hawke looked between the two of them, smiling at their increasingly frequent, delightful conversations. Then she rose, tumbler tucked discreetly into her palm as she nodded to Varric and Anders. "Goodnight, then. See you in the morning." They both mumbled rather drunkenly back at her.

"And _try_ not to drink too much or stay up too late," she chided, tone intentionally mothering. "No doubt Bartrand will be roaring to go, first thing, looking to make up for lost time."

Varric waved a hasty, dismissive gesture, face screwed up unhappily. "Yeah, yeah, don't remind me. See you at half-past third bellowing."

"Good night, Marian," Anders called, a little too cheerfully, ignoring Fenris who stalked past the fire towards the tent.

"Sleep well, Anders." She paused, pointing at his tent behind him. "And _do_ try not to bring your tent down on your head, all right? I've secured it as best I can, but go _easy_ on it."

Fenris rolled his eyes as he shoved their bedrolls into their tent, then fished about in his pack for a silk shirt. _I don't know why she coddles that mage… _

"Thank you again. You are a good friend, better than I deserve. I will do my best not to undo all your efforts," Anders replied. Fenris grumbled to himself as he disappeared into the tent, not liking the bold fervency to the apostate's slightly tipsy declarations.

A few moments later, Hawke dropped her tumbler into her pack then followed Fenris, sighing heavily as the flaps fell shut behind her and the eerie ambiance of the Deep Roads was muted. "Ahh. Tent, sweet tent."

He chuckled, crouching to undo his bedroll. Able to tell Hawke's by the scent of her still on it, he'd placed hers on her side of the tent. _It is good that it still smells of her in here, _Fenris thought with a weary but relaxed sigh._ After rinsing off so much darkspawn blood, dragon blood, and spider ichor, I had not thought to ever find anything pleasant smelling again…_

Feeling a little unsure about Fenris's mood and demeanor, Hawke quickly rolled her bedroll out first, placing it a little closer to the tent wall than she had the night before. _I will let Fenris decide if he needs distance or not._

She ducked back out of the tent to get her waterskin and cloak, finding this section of the Deep Roads to be markedly drier and cooler than where they had camped the night before. She took a quick, distracted drink. _I can think of of several ways to warm up if my cloak doesn't prove enough… _Then she shook her head, chiding herself. _Did you learn nothing today, Marian? Maker…_

Hawke paused at the tent flaps before reentering, teasing, "Are you decent, Fenris?"

_I wonder if he's already changed out of his tunic. I am not sure which to hope for, since it would be nice to be able to get some restful sleep. Andraste's short silken shift but it was a tumultuous day — I don't know if I can handle another sight of Fenris, especially since I need to be extra cautious and restrained in case his markings continue to trouble him._

"You tell me, Hawke," came his muffled, cryptic reply.

Hawke hesitantly peered between the tent flaps, much in the same way he had done to her. To both her delight and dismay, Fenris knelt on his bedroll, which was delightedly laid out beside hers, back to her and bare to the waist as he already and unfortunately pulled his silk shirt over his head.

Still, she gripped her waterskin as her mouth went dry again at the fleeting sight of the markings along his back, shoulders, and sides, ones which she had not gotten a look at yet and which had only shone mutedly through his tunic and armor while they'd fought. _Surely this is the Fade, and I will wake up to Bartrand's hollering and find myself sharing a tent with Varric or something._

Luckily for her straining waterskin, the show was over rather quickly.

"Hmmm…" she said appraisingly as she fully pushed her way into the tent. Fenris set aside his folded tunic, then turned around to sit cross-legged on his bedroll facing her. His face was hidden as he began pulling at the fitted shirt and straightening the cuffs and collar. She dropped her dark cloak onto her bedroll, taking a lingering drink as she remained standing to consider him.

"Decent isn't the word I'm looking for…" she said ponderously, screwing her face up in thoughtfulness. _My mouth feels dry again already, just thinking of any number of appropriate descriptions for him. It is unkind of him to tease me like this. Merciful Maker!_

Fenris held up a hand, beckoning politely for her waterskin. "May I?" _I am used to scrutiny, but it is entirely different with her. It is little wonder my throat feels closed off._

Hawke handed it over gladly, then knelt on her own bedroll facing him, trying not to watch as he took a very long drink. _No wine tonight. Definitely would be a very bad idea,_ she decided, barely able to keep from fidgeting or reaching over to touch him, unsure of how Fenris wished to proceed. _Probably not by me ripping that shirt off of him and… no, no, get a hold of yourself, girl._

"Thank you. It is somewhat dry here," Fenris said a little hoarsely, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he handed her half-emptied waterskin back. Then his voice became teasingly smooth, the sound of his fetching Tevinter accent only making her hang onto his every word all the more. "And it is quite all right if you cannot come up with the word you are looking for. Most people do not know what to make of me."

Stoppering the waterskin and placing it above their bedrolls where they both could reach it in the night, Hawke teased back, "I never said I didn't know what word I was looking for. I merely said decent wasn't it." She smiled slyly over at him, purposely withholding any number of flattering words she could think of to describe him.

Fenris shrugged, turning to plump up his bolster before reclining languidly on his back. "Very well, woman. Keep your secrets." He folded his hands over his flat stomach and crossed his ankles, looking the picture of relaxed unconcernedness.

Hawke regarded him with a growing smile for a few moments, then chuckled to herself as she spread her cloak out and curled up beneath it on her side. She shifted on her bedroll, trying to get comfortable but not willing to sleep on her other side.

_Stupid ogre and stupid shoulder. Perhaps I should have let Anders take a look at it. But he looked so exhausted by the time we got back to Bartrand and it really started to hurt. It is probably just from sleeping on it wrong. If it bothers me in the morning, a little elfroot tea will do just the trick._

"Aren't you cold, Fenris?" she finally asked, rubbing her chilly, bare feet together as she waited for her cold bedroll to warm up.

"Not really, no." _Perhaps if I was in my usual sleeping attire, _he thought ruefully, wishing he was back at his mansion in his comfortable bed and even more comfortable bare skin, rather than still in his leggings and shirt.

Hawke pulled the cloak further up against her chin, scoffing softly. "First, you don't get hot while the rest of us roasted on the Wounded Coast, and now, you're perfectly content in the cold, underground Deep Roads? I'll need to work on my fortitude or Varric will start making you the hero of all his stories."

Fenris rolled his head to the side, blinking over at her with one upraised eyebrow. "I am hardly perfectly content. And the dwarf far more enjoys making you the center of his tales, despite his interest in my markings earlier. He was just being… _nosy_."

She snickered softly at the petulant tone of his voice. "Varric does make it his business to get into everyone else's business, I admit. I think it comes more of a fondness for knowledge than a desire for seedy gossip, however. Not that he would ever admit it. He insists on playing down his true character, though he is as savvy, helpful, and kind as his brother is _not_."

Looking back up at the tent ceiling, Fenris grunted, but did not disagree. "Hmph… well. You know him better than I."

Hawke rubbed her cold hands together under her cloak. "You'll get to know him, I'm sure. Especially when you play Wicked Grace together tomorrow."

He sighed, closing his eyes. _Another day down here. Well, at least each one that passes means we are one day closer to being able to leave. Though I would hope that not all of them will be as trying as this day. _He took a long, calming breath, fighting against fatigue and bone-deep weariness, his stamina more drained than he'd felt it in weeks. _Though, not all of it is from fighting darkspawn and dragons. _

Hawke shifted on her bedroll beside him, and he doggedly remained still, keeping his eyes shut. Though it was difficult, he knew he should keep himself from looking over at her again or slipping his hands under her cloak. _Much of this weariness is from working through this thing between us. While my plan seems to have worked, now I am too worn to try anything, lest something happen and I find myself too exhausted to prevent it. _He slowly twiddled his thumbs where his hands lay on his stomach, wishing they could be caressing Hawke instead.

_I merely need to rest. It has been a trying day, but we emerged victorious._ _We are the victors. __**I **__am the victor. _He smiled cockily to himself, eyes still shut._ In whatever these myriad, strange feelings for Hawke are, I seem to have found a way to master my markings. And yet another blow has been dealt to Danarius's foul plans for retaking me. His failings are becoming numerous indeed._

He began to cautiously wonder what life after Danarius's death would be like, but found he was too tired to make much headway beyond a hope that it would be less tiring than his current life. _If Hawke truly means to help me kill him, then she would undoubtedly be there to help me figure it out afterwards…_

Clearing her throat, Hawke asked with a fond chuckle, "Did… you still want to practice talking tonight? I'll understand if you are tired." _He looks so contented, like he's already half asleep. It is good to see him peaceful after everything he has been through. But Maker, what I would not give to kiss that adorable smile on his face goodnight._

"Speak, and I will be happy to listen, as always," he replied a little tiredly but not really sounding sleepy. _I did ask. And just for this reason. I should not let myself get carried away after working so hard to master myself. Who knows what tomorrow might bring? I must be careful._

"_I_ hardly need practice talking, Fenris," she retorted. "But you wanted to hear about my father. So, ask away. Lesson one: ask good questions."

Fenris opened his eyes, his brow furrowing as he tried to think of poignant things to ask. _She makes it look far too easy, _he sighed inwardly as he set his mind to it, but glad of a distraction from thinking of her in other ways.

Though he envied Hawke her charismatic way with people, Fenris knew his own lack was not his fault — it was Danarius's. Under the constant thumb of the magister, he'd had no time, need, nor anything but severe discouragement to converse with anyone, even other slaves. Though he knew most other slaves had their own small, insignificant lives when not toiling for their masters, Fenris himself had been unique. Being kept sometimes literally on a short leash as a pet and bodyguard, further set apart as he was by his lyrium tattoos, he'd been even more wholly a slave than Danarius's others.

When he'd been left behind in Seheron, Fenris had been both too injured and too lost without his master to speak at all, let alone speak _with_ anyone. His former dependence on Danarius was something Fenris seldom could stomach thinking about since discovering how different things could be out from under the dark shadow of such a life. To his shame, back then in Seheron, he had lay on the cold ground staring up and desperately wishing to see Danarius's or even Hadriana's face for very different reasons than he now currently did.

The Fog Warriors who took him in spent much of their time speaking _around_ him and _to_ him, gradually drawing him out of his shell as they'd nursed him back to health. Fenris had listened and absorbed much from them, but it had all come to an abrupt end before he'd really had a chance to emulate their easy, warm, and confident ways — ways that Hawke strongly reminded him of, herself.

Afterwards, most of his conversations as a fugitive had been haggling for food, rooms, and work. Or lying quite literally to save his own skin. For nearly three years, he had listened far, far more than he spoke, for few cared to talk with him, but keeping an ear out for betrayal had been vital. His longest exchanges probably were with the slavers who hunted him, but those had involved little in the way of actual, polite conversation.

Since joining Hawke's band, Fenris knew he'd gotten at least a little better at it, though, especially in talking with Hawke, Aveline, and even Bethany.

Though his first conversation with Hawke had been one of urgent necessity, he had found it strangely easy to tell her things. Indeed, it had been almost too easy, and he'd found himself apologizing more than a few times for speaking his mind rather vehemently to a complete stranger who had just helped keep him free and alive.

Aveline he'd felt an immediate respect for, since she was a confident warrior with clear beliefs and a trustworthy agenda. She spoke plainly, and Fenris found he could appreciate that, since he himself employed little subtlety in his own speech — when he wasn't bantering with Hawke, in any case.

Bethany, though a mage, had proven to be both utterly guileless and very open, especially given his experiences and the fact that she knew his unreserved feelings on magic. Though he had no idea why, Hawke's sister seemed to treat him with an almost fond respect from the start, despite everything. With Hawke vouching for her and Bethany's own reliable, even nature to speak on her behalf, Fenris felt comfortable around her, even if he had deep concerns about her magic, apostasy, and what it meant for Hawke's family and safety.

Anders, Merrill, and Isabela had mostly sprung conversations on him, and unwanted ones at that. The first two he found little to recommend the effort of dealing more smoothly with, given their ridiculous naivety on the subject of magic and dealing with demons and spirits. The latter, he knew it barely mattered what he said — Isabela would continue to pester him regardless.

"What was your father's name?" Fenris finally asked, starting with the obvious.

"Malcolm," Hawke replied.

Sighing, since the answer had not bought him nearly enough time to consider his next question, he thought for a few moments, then decided to begin at the beginning.

"Where did he come from?"

Hawke smiled, chuckling, "Now _that_ is a very good question." Fenris turned to look at her, already pleased with his efforts.

"Father grew up as a scamp on the streets of only he knew what city. He would never tell us where he was from — not even Mother could get it out of him."

Fenris was a little surprised. "He had no family that you could ask?" _Strange that he would withhold such information from his own family. I do not know where I come from, though I would like to know. But there seems little chance of finding out._

"None that he ever spoke of or that we ever knew," Hawke said with a shake of her head. "As I understand it, his magic manifested when he was living on the streets. Of course, with no family or real home, it was only a matter of time before _someone_ noticed. He ran at first, but was pursued and captured, then taken away to the Circle."

She paused, reminded of Fenris's own story. _It is no wonder it hurts to think of Fenris alone, running. Father was so appreciative of having a family, always spoke of how fortunate he was to have escaped not just one but two unhappy lives…_

Hawke felt the need to elaborate. "At first, he actually found he was fine with it, since it meant he no longer had to live the hard life of an orphan, defending himself, begging, stealing, juggling on street corners for food and coin, finding safe places to hide and sleep."

Fenris thought of his own hard life doing similar things, though never begging or juggling. He looked back up at the tent ceiling, troubled, imagining what it must have taken for a child to live that way.

"However," she continued, "after spending a few years in the Circle, he grew restless at the restrictions on his freedom, as he realized how much fear his magical abilities caused in others — the templars, the enchanters who taught him, the other mages… everyone. He…"

"Hmmm…"

"Yes, Fenris, I _know_," Hawke sighed, though she did not agree wholeheartedly with Fenris's beliefs. "Lesson two: try not to interrupt." He glanced at her quietly, then looked away again. "Father took the dangers of magic seriously, if you will let me finish telling you. That is why he stayed for many years and got his training. _Including_ the dangers of blood magic and dealing with demons," she added pointedly, "which he took very, very seriously."

Fenris remained silent, so she pressed on. "But still a rather fearless street urchin at heart, the constant atmosphere of seclusion, fear, and gloom ate away at him. He also could not stand being cooped up after spending many years on the streets, going wherever he wanted. He began to test his limits, and, to make a long story short, he eventually escaped the Circle."

"That seems to happen a lot more than I thought it did," Fenris observed, tone rather dry. _What would it take to keep mages in their Circles? Kirkwall is the seat of Templar power in the Free Marches, yet look at how many apostates and maleficarum we have run into in just a few short weeks._

"Probably because I seem to attract apostates. I know, I do not understand it myself," she said carefully, not wanting to start any arguments. "Bethany is my sister, but the rest… It has not escaped my own notice."

"How did you parents even meet, then?" he asked, seeming to step around the issue, too. _Spending your life on the run does not exactly make it easy to meet people. I know that firsthand._

Hawke took the hint. "After he escaped the Circle, Father became a mercenary as he fled the templars, roaming the Free Marches and having all sorts of _adventures_."

Fenris chuckled at the excited tone in her voice, suddenly understanding better where her own desire for adventure must have come from. _She has likely grown up listening to the sorts of stories Varric tells about her, now. It is no wonder she finds it natural to seek what most people would rather only hear about and not actually live through. _He himself often had cause to wish her own tendency to attract adventure somewhat lessened — several times earlier that very day, at least.

"As I've said before, Father was rather a scamp, and from living on the streets he knew how to defend himself. He never forgot those lessons, even in his years in the Circle. Once he was back out in the world, he decided to fall back on those skills, never using his magic unless he absolutely had to, partially out of necessity in hiding from the templars. He only got better at being a mercenary as time went on, and he eventually signed on with some band called the Crimson Oars."

Again, Fenris reflected on the similarity to his own situation. His attempts to hide his markings and to not use his abilities also came from the knowledge that they would make him stick out more than he already did. Being pursued, he could not afford any more scrutiny than he already received as a fugitive, ex-slave elf from a different country who was struggling to fit in and who did not know the first thing about how to live as a free man does. As he fled, doing mercenary work had seemed convenient for his own purposes, too.

"The mercenary band came to Kirkwall for some quick job or other, and Father ran into Mother, who was of course a young, beautiful noblewoman at the time — she looked a lot like Bethany, actually. Despite all common sense on both my parents' parts, the apostate, mercenary wanderer courted her, a wealthy, innocent, young noblewoman.

Even though Grandfather and Grandmother were arranging a marriage for her, Mother would sneak away with Father whenever she could. Though from what I gather they only courted for a short time and could only get away infrequently, it must have been terribly forbidden and exciting, for they fell madly in love."

Then she snorted. "I… have never put much thought into _what_ exactly was so forbidden and exciting about it, of course."

Fenris chuckled nervously, finding it difficult and uncomfortable himself envisioning Leandra embroiled in anything half so torrid as some of the encounters he'd come across in Hightown. "If your mother was to be wed, how did your family come to be, and in Ferelden, no less?" he prompted, moving Hawke on to a less strange topic.

"Ooh, this is the best part," she said excitedly, wiggling a little closer. She lowered her voice conspiratorially, even though undoubtedly no one could hear their hushed conversation outside the thick canvas walls of their tent. "When Father finally had to flee from Kirkwall, having attracted the attention of the templars, he decided he could not leave without seeing Mother one last time to say goodbye.

He knew she would be going to a masquerade ball being thrown for the visiting Orlesian Empress, so he donned a dashing disguise, all Orlesian silk robes and a mask, and snuck into the party, past the templars. Then he stole dance after dance with Mother, and at the end of the night, she would not let him say goodbye. She told him that she didn't want a prearranged marriage with the Comte de Launcet, that she would rather take a chance at happiness with him, no matter what. Then they ran off into the night and never looked back. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Looking over at Hawke, Fenris could make out the distant, romantic expression on her face. He felt his brow furrowing in disbelief as he blinked at her. "So your mother ran away from an easy life of wealth and privilege for an apostate to go to Ferelden? After a few… late night excursions and an evening of _dancing_?"

Hawke's eyes considered Fenris's incredulous face as she calmly explained. "It is a fairly common enough story, really — sheltered girl meets a wildly dashing, handsome, adventurous, and mysterious stranger, and suddenly she discovers a whole world is out there that she never knew existed…"

Fenris still looked a little confused and skeptical, so she continued. "And when she is finally faced with the decision, she knows she can never go back to her boring, old life. That it would be better to risk breaking her heart by following it, rather than assuredly breaking it by denying what she feels. It's all terribly romantic, don't you think?"

Raising an eyebrow at the wistful ardor in her voice, Fenris asked, "But what of your father? What makes a man like that fall for a woman so far above his station, one he barely knows?"

She paused, looking away and reflecting quietly for a few moments. "Not being a man myself, I am not certain. But, I suppose he just finally found someone he wanted to be with. For all their differences, they had some things in common, and of course, who can resist someone who hangs on their every word?" She chuckled, not able to bring herself to look at Fenris, who was still listening attentively.

"Then, when Father learned of Mother's love and her devotion to him, he probably realized he would never have to be alone again, would always be able to carry his home with him, no matter how far or how often they had to flee. He'd never had a family of his own, never had anyone to look out for but himself and the people he chose to work for — but when they settled down in Ferelden, he certainly threw himself into family life wholeheartedly from then on."

Fenris looked back at the ceiling of the tent, thumbs twiddling again as he absorbed what she said.

"You said your father taught you how to use your daggers," he said finally, wanting to fill the silence as Hawke's words sifted through his mind. "And I believe I overheard your sister telling Anders that he taught her how to use magic."

Hawke knew she needed to step carefully around the subject of magic with him, so she took a few moments to collect her thoughts. "Yes. He trained her just as he was trained in the Circle. And, of course, he considered blood magic reprehensible and taught Bethany the same.

Though he did not want us to fear magic, he instilled in all of us, Bethany, Carver, and me, a healthy respect for what power can do — magical or otherwise. On the streets and as a mercenary, he had seen firsthand how bad things can get when powerful people do not have a care for how they conduct themselves."

Fenris held back a disgusted grunt of agreement, not wanting to interrupt Hawke's thoughtful speaking.

"As far as demons, well — he always believed in not making promises lightly. To him, making a deal with a demon was not only very dangerous, it was also self-betrayal. I once heard him explain to Bethany that when you have promised yourself to a demon, your life would never be your own again."

Nodding, Fenris thought, _If only that Dalish witch or Anders would see that. They have both sacrificed far more than they know. And when they discover the true extent of what they have done, we all may wind up weeping with them. _

"He would never deal with a demon," Hawke said quietly. "To Father, freedom was the one thing he cherished above all. Even though we eventually settled down into a quiet life in Lothering, of all the quite literal backwater places, it was his choice to do so, and Father said he had very few regrets, when he died."

At hearing the strained tone in her voice, Fenris again looked over at her face. But Hawke's eyes were tightly closed, expression full of sorrow, and he felt a pang of it himself for her loss. _She goes about smiling, laughing, and optimistic so often that I forget she has undoubtedly suffered, too. _

He thought of the pain he often seemed to cause her himself, the heavy weariness of the knowledge seeming to suddenly outweigh his other concerns. He finally turned on his side, reaching over to slip a hand beneath the edge of her cloak, finding her slightly cold hands easily.

_It is no wonder she is a remarkable woman. Her father was no ordinary man, and certainly not a typical mage. This explains much about her, though there is much about his life that I do not understand. Leaving the Circle, running off with a woman it seems he barely knew, not using his magic? Strange. _

_Yet, I suppose I have little to compare to my own experiences, with no memory of my life before and not having… truly lived, but for a brief time with the Fog Warriors. And perhaps a little with Hawke, herself._

Hawke wrapped her hands around Fenris's warm, strong one, once again reveling in the feel of his fingers, his ring, his smooth, short nails, and the almost-imagined hum of his lyrium markings. She traced the lines down his palms with her fingers, then stopped when she felt his slight tremble.

"Father's regrets… and your original question about where he came from…" she said softly, reminded of Fenris's own history and to take more care with his hand. "He… used to have nightmares sometimes about where he came from. That is why he never spoke of it — I gather it was a bloody tale. After he died, Mother told us the only thing he ever said about it was, 'Freedom's price is never cheap, but that was a hundred leagues and a lifetime ago.'"

Fenris quivered again slightly as Hawke clasped her hand with his, enjoying the feel of her touch as he quietly considered her father's origins and words.

_Nightmares… I hope they will not come tonight, _he thought, his own situation strongly echoed by her father's once more. Despite his concerns, however, he relaxed, feeling the steady stroke of her thumb starting to brush against his.

"As I said earlier," Hawke added quietly, voice both fond and sad, "I think he would have liked you very much. He would have thought you very brave, and I know he would have had so many questions he would have wanted to ask you." _I know I certainly do._

_Brave? I have spent most of the past few days acting like a coward. _Fenris looked away, though he settled his hand more firmly into hers as her other hand rubbed the back of it, fingertips lightly grazing his wrist. His mind spun with emotions, questions, and conflicting thoughts, but slowly, not urgently for a change.

"That is kind of you to say so. I am sorry for your loss, and mine in never knowing your father." Though he fell back on etiquette again, Fenris found he truly did regret that he would never know Malcolm Hawke as the man's daughter squeezed his hand in silent appreciation. "Perhaps, on another occasion," he offered, "if I practice enough, I can repay your story in kind… and answer a few questions, myself."

The irony of his own words was not lost on Fenris. _She has given me much to think about, yet again, _he reflected, not for the first time that day. _I hardly know what to make of my life as it is, such as it is. I will have to think on it before telling her about it — perhaps it will help me figure out my own questions._

"I look forward to it. I enjoy listening to you talk," Hawke said, quiet fondness tinged with sleepiness. "You did very well with your questions."

Reaching over with his other hand, Fenris lightly brushed his thumb across her lips, reveling in the soft feel of her sigh. "I have been studying the best." _Though not as closely as I would wish._

Hawke chuckled softly at him repeating her flattery back to her. _Always listening, always remembering, always so clever, morning or night. _Contentedly, she murmured,"Mmm, take your time," while trying not to traitorously drift off. "There is no rush, after all."

Despite himself, Fenris had rather been thinking the opposite and had been considering moving his hand from her lips to her waist. _She is right, of course. And we are both too tired, besides. _While her words and her touch had not yet threatened to spill over along the lyrium pathways that marked his own freedom's price, he did not want to tempt fate. _Not tonight,_ _at least,_ he thought, feeling full brunt of the day's weariness_. Our efforts have paid off, but there is always a price._

He pulled his thumb away from her lips, shoulders loosening as he let himself sink deeper into his bedroll. _Between the long day's battles, the sweet smell of our tent, the gentle thrum of the stone floor beneath, and the feel of her soft skin, it is no wonder there is no tightness left in me. It is a marked change, though probably only temporary. Tomorrow is a new day, and who knows what it will bring. _

Thinking of the night before, but trying to remain cautious, Fenris drew his hand from beneath her cloak. Hawke started to release him, one hand slipping away, but he kept her fingers caged with his. Gently, he pressed his lips against the back of her hand, wondering briefly what the look on Danarius's face would be if he saw him acting like some Orlesian noble with Hawke.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, as Hawke brought their hands up to her lips, gently pressing a kiss along the back of his. Fenris felt his pulse spike at the tender feel of her cool lips brushing against his hot skin. The sensation of his thudding heart felt strange against the drowsiness that was already claiming him.

"Sleep well," she said, tucking her arm back under her cloak but leaving their now-warm hands to lay in the cool, open space between their bodies.

Fenris retrieved her other hand from beneath her cloak, smoothing the cloth down around her before clasping hers in his, laying these joined hands between them, too. "And you."

_A tired, lackluster kiss in the Deep Roads would be a poor first one, _he thought with sleepy practicality, stroking her hands with his thumbs. _She deserves one under the moon and stars, or in a sunny, high tree branch, surrounded by sweet flowers. _

_In time, I will see to it,_ Fenris decided, his final act for the day. _Until then, I will… enjoy trying to get used to this._

_I would kiss him anywhere,_ Hawke thought with deep, drowsy fervency. _Anywhere in Thedas, anywhere under Thedas, anywhere he will permit me. If he gives me his hand, then I will be content to kiss him there, for now. _

_There is no rush, _she reaffirmed, willing her last thought for the night to be taken to heart._ I love him, and that will not change._

They settled down to sleep deeply, both already drifting off and breathing quiet, even breaths in a matching rhythm. Each enjoyed the subtle scent of the other, thinking of nothing but the feel of cool kisses, warm hands, and cozy tents, leaving the expedition outside the canvas flaps, and the chaotic day's events to be considered some other evening.


	35. Interlude: Deeper and Deeper, Part 1

**A/N**: A real doozy of a chapter that took a while, because I tried to cover three days in one go. Then I got stuck on day three, so I've backed it off to two days. My apologies for the long wait, but I come offering a little hotness so, maybe you will forgive me? :)

Plenty of words already here, so I won't add too many more except my unending thanks for the reviews and support on twitter / tumblr / deviantart / etc.! It really keeps me going, and I appreciate you taking the time. :)

Bioware owns all, though now I _do_ understand why the skipped most of the Deep Roads (sigh…)

**P.S.** The ever-lovely NineShadows has done some fanart for Chapter 29 - please go see it, it's amazing! http:/ / bit .ly / nMVdsD (remove the spaces)

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Fenris placidly allowed himself to be guided as Hawke backed him up against one of the expedition carts. Looking down, he took in the sight of her dextrous, bare hands gripping his biceps, her fingers lightly digging into the leather straps of his armor and his tanned skin pulled taut over warrior's muscles. His eyes flicked back to her face, a wry smile crooking up the corner of his mouth when he saw the lusty way she was eying his arms. He reached for her, purposely flexing a little more than was necessary to encircle her waist with his hands.

"Ooh, Fenris," she murmured, squeezing his upper arms appreciatively. "You're going to be the death of me."

"It would be only fair, woman," he replied huskily, crooked smile deepening.

Laughing a low, sultry laugh meant only for his ears, she let her hands trail down his unmarked skin to his vambraces. Without the lyrium markings to mar his flesh, the only shudder Fenris felt at her touch was one of sheer pleasure._ A normal man now… feeling her touch without hesitation, pain, or fear of the memories…_

Hawke slowly lifted her eager hands and trailed them down the metal of his vambraces, leaning fully into Fenris as she unlatched them both. He could feel the warmth of her legs through his leggings and the soft rise and fall of her breathing against his stomach, which soon began to burn with a white-hot heat. She removed his vambraces from his forearms in a deft, deliberate motion, letting her arms trail up his own to wrap around his neck in an embrace. Fenris could hear the vambraces click shut behind his back just before Hawke dropped them into the cart.

She smiled slyly up at him. "That's two pieces down. Now to get rid of the _rest_ of this armor."

"We're standing in the middle of the expedition camp," he warned, though his voice sounded far too husky to be taken seriously.

Hawke put a finger against his lips to silence him, eyes twinkling as she shook her head slowly. "I'm a partner. Surely I am entitled to some… perks?" As her finger began to trail down his chin and neck, Fenris could feel the fingers of her other hand, the one still embracing him, begin to tickle along his spine. Her gentle fingertips stroked up and down the narrow strip of his exposed back, playing along the tailored gap in his tunic which had been designed to vent off the heat of the northern, equatorial climate.

_I certainly have prodigious heat to be vented off at the moment… _he thought, though he rather ironically shivered, goosebumps breaking out all along his flesh.

"Don't you miss your markings?" she asked, tracing the prickling, unblemished skin of his throat, which no longer bore the branches of lyrium and ink that had tormented him from his first memory of being.

"No," Fenris replied without hesitation, pulling her closer and sliding his arms fully around Hawke to envelop her in a tight, possessive embrace. "They have done nothing but keep me apart — from my past, from any family I may have had, from peace…" She looked up into his eyes, brow furrowing, expression torn. "From you," he added quietly, hands slipping lower and lower down her back until he felt her skirt beneath his fingers. He dug his fingers in and pulled, inward and upward, strong muscles drawing her in, intimately close.

Hawke put a hand against his face, with no hesitation on her part or careful restraint on his. "_Fenris_…"

He reveled in the way she said his name, for her tone wasn't one of pity, concern, or even tenderness. It was passionate, raw and heated. _Yes, this is right…_

She drew his face closer, softly caressing his cheek with her thumb. "Kiss me. Please, or by the Maker, I might never forgive you." The serious look of need on her face gave her rather overly dramatic words an urgent earnestness that went straight to his loins.

Still, Fenris resisted, chiding, "In the middle of all these hirelings? In the dark, dangerous Deep Roads?" Chuckling a little deviously, Fenris shook his head, glad when she did not release his face, even then. "So reckless…"

Hawke made a decent attempt to scowl. "You intend to string me along then? You think I am willing to wait for you?" She snorted softly. "You have a very high opinion of yourself."

Fenris merely arched one black, sardonic eyebrow. "Do the words 'I could not have done it without you,' sound even remotely familiar, woman?" he asked, tone cocky as he repeated the words she had spoken before they had retired for the night. He eased her closer as he spoke, torturing both himself and her with the restrained closeness, though he found he could not help himself.

"I'm starting to regret practicing talking with you." Hawke stamped her foot, which caused her rub against him even more, face screwing up prettily into a mask of frustration and want. "I almost preferred you quiet, if you're going to insist on outwitting me with my own words like this. Now hush and kiss me."

"Don't you think you deserve better than… this?" Fenris asked seriously, removing one hand from her waist to sweep it around the dark, musty cavern and eerily silent, empty expedition camp.

Hawke shrugged noncommittally, not looking around and not taking her eyes off of him as she began to frown in consternation.

Fenris sighed, catching her up in his arms again and resting his forehead against hers. He felt his eyes go half-lidded as he rubbed the tip of his narrow, pointy, elven nose against her human one. "I think you deserve better," he said softly, trying to mollify her.

Her face lost most of its sullenness, though she still pouted a bit as she nuzzled him back. Then she slowly lifted her chin and tilted her head so their noses no longer bumped, trying to kiss him regardless.

_She is trying to slip past my guard, pouting on purpose, showing off her lips to better advantage, _Fenris thought wryly, steeling himself and shaking his head slightly. Since their foreheads still touched, it made Hawke shake hers too, keeping her lips at bay._ I can wait,_ he thought with an amused smile._ I have far more fortitude than this. More than she does, at least, and she has admitted as much herself._

Not needing to let his voice drop to a deep, quiet rumble, he promised meaningfully, "Perhaps once we get back to the surface, we can practice… other things that will preclude any talking. Witty or otherwise. You _did_ say you wished to spar…"

It seemed to do the trick, for one of Hawke's fetching eyebrows rose slowly.

"Ohh, Fenris…"

* * *

_3 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Morning_

Hawke groaned as she awakened, feeling a sharp ache in her shoulder the moment she first shifted. She tried to turn over, but couldn't free her hands from Fenris's strong grasp. "Oww… Fenris."

"Hmm?" he grunted curtly. Much to his dismay, Fenris awakened immediately, his pleasant dream scattering even as he realized it had all indeed been a dream.

_No… I can still feel my markings. _He held back a ragged sigh, lingering agony beginning to burn all over his body as he thought of, then felt the lyrium etched into his flesh. His disappointment seemed to serve as tinder for the haunting memories, so he tried to put the dream out of his mind. _I should know better than to hope by now… _Still, despite the hot, searing feeling beginning to prickle his palms, he did not release Hawke's hands, which he still held in his own.

"I need to turn over or something, Fenris. My shoulder hurts like the…"

"By all the sodding paragons and ancestors, am I the first one _up_? Get moving! We've got to make up for lost time! You blighters had plenty of time to stand around resting your thumbs up your asses yesterday! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Hawke pressed her face into her bolster, growling a growl that quickly grew in volume and ferocity. The animalistic sound coming from her made Fenris forget his markings almost immediately, jarring him out of his dark memories and solidifying his attention in the present.

Then she began swearing colorfully and mutedly into her bolster, and he actually had to suppress a chuckle, though he understood her frustrations only too well. He was just as disappointed that it was time to rise, still fairly tired from the strenuous day before and wishing to return to his pleasant dream. _A desire to… sleep in? She is beginning to rub off on me…_

"Never mind," Hawke finally said with profound resignation, squeezing Fenris's hands. "Doesn't matter now. Perhaps I will just lay here. Stupid shoulder only hurts when I move…"

Fenris released her after a moment anyway, bowing to practicality. Still, he lay there himself, watching with a mixture of concern and nervous apprehension when Hawke finally sat up and worked her stiff shoulder in circles. _Perhaps I should offer… _

_No, _he decided hastily, markings tingling again as he thought of his uncontrollable lyrium flares._ I must be cautious. It would not do to undo all my efforts of yesterday. _Fenris finally sat up, stretching his own limbs out and looking away from her, feeling a bit guilty for not having any noticeable discomfort when Hawke clearly seemed unused to sleeping on the hard ground. _She belongs in a soft bed with a blazing fire, not sleeping on cold, hard stone. But, I suppose that is why we are here. _

She began swearing softly again and muttering about elfroot tea, and Fenris thought seriously once more about offering to massage her shoulder. _Far better her under my hands than Danarius…_ But he held onto the memory of the poor end to their last close encounter yesterday morning when he had held her by the waist and his lyrium talent had spiraled uncontrollably. The deeper concern that his emotions would run away from him and ruin all his careful plans soon outweighed his immediate concern for Hawke's shoulder. _Better this pain than cause her more by having to withdraw yet again._

Fenris began rolling up his bedroll, silently puzzling at the idea that anyone would be dismayed by him withdrawing, staying silent, or leaving. _Not counting Danarius and Hadriana, who are not worth counting, everyone else seems quite content to see the back of me. Yet another way Hawke is unique… and unfathomable._

Hawke cautiously eyed Fenris from her bedroll, noting the look of quiet concentration and concern on his face. In the dim light of their tent, she could just make out the crease of his brow and the little wrinkles around the bridge of his nose that he always got when he was deeply considering something.

_All right, Marian,_ she told herself firmly._ No mistakes today. Let's get through this one without causing Fenris any further distress. He is obviously still a little unsure about things this morning. Hands to yourself, girl, focus on your work… It'll be a long enough day as it is._

"Did you sleep well?" Hawke asked brightly, folding up her cloak. "Nothing but pleasant dreams, I hope?"

Fenris hesitated before shoving his bedroll through the tent flaps. "Yes… thank you."

_Thanking her… hmph. She would probably be a lot less tired if she didn't spend all night running through my dreams. _Then he rolled his eyes at himself, remembering hearing a similar line when he stopped for meals in Antiva. Sometimes it was even addressed to him — by both men and women. _She is attractive, but I had better not wind up as simpering and brazen in my pursuit of her as those Antivans… or Jethann. _He shook his head to clear away the thought, mouth setting in a grim line at the ridiculous idea.

"And you?" he asked instead, though it came out rather growly with the tenor of his thoughts.

"I slept well enough, if _not_ enough," she sighed, rolling up her own bedroll. She turned and fixed him with a small, fond smile. "Thank you for last night. It was nice to talk about my father."

Fenris scratched behind his ear to hide the flush that rose to his cheeks, though it was fairly dark in the tent. _'Thank you for last night.' I had not thought to hear those words from her so soon… _Again he found himself shaking his head at his own odd thoughts._  
_

He cleared his throat before replying. "Ahem. It was… my pleasure, Hawke." He hoped it sounded more magnanimous than sheepish. _It seems I need more practice talking. She catches me off-guard far too often. Or perhaps I just need more sleep. Being awoken in the middle of a distracting dream to Hawke herself already awake is… not something to which I am accustomed. _Fenris tried not to think what it would be like to be accustomed to such a thing, either.

Hawke took a long drink from the waterskin, then handed it to him, thinking his throat must be as dry as hers. _His voice sounds rather… hoarse this morning. Yes, it must be the air. _She shivered. _I hope we move back to a warmer part of the Deep Roads by tonight. This dry air and cold stone does not help matters one bit._

"I wonder what today will bring," she sighed, hoping it wouldn't be as fraught with impediments and darkspawn as the previous one. She quickly gave up on speculating, however, slightly afraid she would jinx the expedition into ruin, given her history. Her thoughts turned instead to the evening ahead. "So, do you intend to trounce Varric at Wicked Grace tonight?" Hawke asked, while Fenris was still busy draining the last of her water. "I'll have good coin riding on you."

_Riding on me… _Fenris tried not to be further driven to distraction by her choice of phrase. Thankfully, he had already finished swallowing his last mouthful of water.

"Of course," he confidently said instead, stoppering the waterskin and placing it out front of the tent, too. _It will be good to have something else to occupy my thoughts today. And my hands tonight. _Fenris thought back on his short-lived resolve to cautiously hold back when he was alone with Hawke. _I should have known better… And my dreams seem to disregard my plans as well. How long do we have left on this expedition?_

Hawke eyed Fenris, taking in his usual early-morning rumpled appearance with both amused adoration and resigned dismay. _If I stay in here another moment, I'm likely to do something reckless. I had better find something to do with my hands before they get me into trouble._

She quickly smoothed her own hair out, then headed for the tent flaps. "I'll just go get our water. Best not to dally, Bartrand sounds like he means business today." With a sigh, she pushed her way out into the chilly cavern.

Fenris nodded silently, waiting a few moments for Hawke to gather up her empty waterskin and make her way across camp before he dragged their packs into the tent. He quickly changed into his tunic before she could return and also decided it best to leave his gloves and vambraces in his pack until after breakfast.

Once Hawke returned, they quietly went about the rest of their morning, she resolutely keeping her hands to herself, while Fenris, in turn, turned his mind to his upcoming game of Wicked Grace with Varric. With the chill in the air, they got ready quite quickly, and Bartrand striding around spurring everyone into leaving as soon as possible meant there was no time or temptation to flirt over breakfast either.

After eating, they all returned to the camp and packed away the tents before Hawke and Varric sought out Bodahn and Sandal so the enchantment savant could enchant Bianca with the rune he had fashioned for Hawke the day before. Word of Sandal's mysterious exploits had already spread through the expedition, for everyone had seen the frozen ogre on their way past, taking the detour that Hawke's group had found, and a few hirelings lingered at the breakfast tables hoping to see something spectacular happen. Fenris left them to it, quietly remaining near the carts to finish putting on his armor and stow his pack.

Though everyone expected something more interesting and mystical, in truth it took Sandal only a few minutes of surprisingly deft craftsmanship to fit the crossbow with the lyrium rune. Hawke stood by, comfortingly holding one of Varric's hands while he pressed the other over his eyes, muttering concerns and threats about any rough handling of his dear crossbow as Sandal carefully drilled out a rune socket in the stock. After sanding it down, Sandal even carefully lined it with a thin strip matching decorative brass, which Varric approved of when he risked a peek at the progress being made. Then Hawke had to hold him back from snatching Bianca away entirely as Sandal produced a mallet and began to pound the rune securely into place.

Still, after receiving his now-enchanted crossbow back and running a few test bolts through it, Varric seemed pleased with Bianca's fetching, new, socketed ice rune.

"Enchantment!" Sandal said, clapping when a crossbow bolt whizzed out of Bianca trailing frost behind it and stuck fast into the side of a half-empty water barrel, causing a crust of ice to form around it.

"That's… that's actually kinda cool," Varric said appreciatively, turning his weapon upside down and casting another critical eye over Sandal's handiwork. He ran his thumb over the brass-rimmed rune socket, looking at the perfectly aligned lyrium rune that was now embedded flush in Bianca's red cedar stock.

"My boy does some of the finest work you're ever likely to find!" Bodahn said proudly, helping Sandal pack up his trunk of enchantment gear. "He knows his way around all sorts of weapons and armor. The Queen of Ferelden herself has a pair of enchanted daggers bearing my boy's handiwork!"

"Heh, is that so? Well, I might be interested in getting a few mo…" Varric cut off as Hawke elbowed him, shaking her head then inclining it vigorously at Sandal, who was very focused on placing all of his tools away just so.

"Remember what happened yesterday?" she reminded him, tone hushed. Hawke still felt a little guilty for inadvertently spurring Sandal into running off to make her a rune just so he could enchant something for her.

"True," Varric said, using the cuff of his duster to polish a few of Sandal's fingerprints off the brass embellishments of his weapon. "And Bianca will need some time to heal and get used to her new…"

"Varric! Stop standing around fondling your weapon and get over here! And the rest of you, get packing! We've got to get moving!"

After exchanging resigned glances, Varric headed off to be shouted at and Hawke returned to Fenris, whom she was delighted to find still near the wagons, doing a little bit of practicing with his greatsword to warm up in the chilly cavern.

With Bartrand on a tear and even Varric eager to get going now in the hopes of battle-testing his runed weapon, the entire expedition got packed up in record speed, and they all set off on another day of adventure, hoping to make up for lost time.

* * *

_3 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Evening_

Though Bartrand set a very brisk pace, their day in the Deep Roads was decidedly and blessedly less eventful than the previous one. Apart from the usual stops to shift blockages, the only trouble the expedition ran across was a handful of darkspawn, which Anders suspected were stragglers from the main group they had killed while taking the detour the day before.

His Grey Warden senses thwarted their ambush, so the ensuing battle was a comparatively short one. Still, by the time Hawke, Fenris, Varric, and Anders had dispatched the horrific creatures, the hirelings had developed a markedly deeper sense of appreciation for their group's usefulness. Except for the corpses strewn along the tunnel the expedition had taken yesterday, most of the expedition crew had never seen actual darkspawn before. Only Bodahn, Sandal, Bartrand, and the always-grim Carta scouts seemed unfazed by the attack.

Some unhappy muttering and coin changed hands at the way Hawke seemed to shadow a mysteriously glowing Fenris throughout the battle, but otherwise everyone was just glad to be alive and intact.

Varric had a particularly difficult evening once it was time for dinner, for a stream of hirelings kept coming by their table with extra mugs of ale in hand, eager to hear stories of Hawke and her friends' exploits.

"Maker," the dwarf huffed, turning a few more hopefuls away. "I shouldn't have to choose between telling stories or winning at cards." He dolefully nursed the second of the three ales he had allowed himself, waiting for Hawke and Fenris to finish their dinner. Anders lingered as well, eating the last pear from Hawke's sack of fruit.

"Usually I just drink the ales as they show up and do both," Varric continued. "But I'm actually intrigued to see how good you are at Wicked Grace, elf. I'm always up for easy coin."

"I thought dwarves were supposed to have an increased tolerance for drink?" Fenris goaded, tone deceptively neutral. "Why not have as much ale as you wish? Unless you think yourself less hardy than the average dwarf…"

Varric narrowed his eyes at the jibe and Hawke chuckled to herself. _How clever; he's trying to get a head start on rattling Varric. Fenris is entirely too good at those jabs. But I guess that prickliness seems rather fitting, what with that spiky armor of his. _She ran her eyes over his armor, which he had put back on after washing up, terribly amused to see him plotting his victory before she'd even retrieved the Wicked Grace deck from her pocket.

"Hmph. You'd probably like that, elf, wouldn't you," their short companion replied smoothly. "But I'll have plenty of time for drinking tonight. It won't take long for me to trounce you and take all your coin." He paused meaningfully. "Hawke's coin, that is."

Smirking rather gleefully at Varric's needling of Fenris, Anders watched the verbal sparring match from his side of the bench while he finished his fruit.

Fenris paused in the act of mopping up the last of his stew with his extra helping of flatbread. Just as he scowled over at Varric and moved to reach for his coinpurse, however, Hawke discreetly nudged his foot under the table. Once again, the quick thrill of exhilaration at her contact surprised him, and he paused. When Fenris looked at her, she shook her head slightly, lips pursed in amusement but an otherwise serene look on her face.

_Hmm. Well, perhaps she feels she has something riding on this too, having taught me how to play, _Fenris thought, relenting on footing his own wager. Instead, he focused on finishing his meal and going over the card tactics he'd thought up while he guarded the expedition that day. _Keep the dwarf on the defensive. Watch him closely. Intimidate and stay focused. Mention his crossbow and stature often._

The desire to win burned in him already, though he was a little concerned about what tactics Varric would employ. _I have no desire to boldly go for the dwarf's hands… _Fenris fidgeted uncomfortably._ Let us hope he feels the same and the swiping of cards is kept to a minimum. That is… only enjoyable when Hawke does it._

As he pushed his bowl away and wiped at his face, Fenris also cleared away his distracting thoughts of Hawke. He limbered up his hands and turned his calculating gaze on Varric while she quickly cleared the table for their game. Once everything was set aside, she and Anders both stood, and Fenris and Varric slid to the center of their benches to face off against one another. The apostate went off to get himself a mug of ale, leaving Hawke to set up the match.

"All right, gentlemen. Let's get you started." She produced her Wicked Grace deck and a single gold sovereign, setting both in front of Varric for his inspection. The dwarf produced his own sovereign, then cursorily rifled through the deck of cards, nodding in satisfaction after a minute.

_I… had not considered inspecting the deck before playing, _Fenris realized, keeping his face blank. _I wonder if Hawke ever took advantage of that? _Even as he thought it, he caught her eying him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Suddenly, several of her miraculous, late-night winning hands when they'd played at his mansion made a lot more sense. _Fasta vass… I knew I should have rooted around in my bed. And her sleeves. Hmm, well, I will not make that mistake with her again._

"Looks good to me, Hawke. And I trust you not to have marked the deck for the elf, here." Then Varric looked up at her, pulling a wounded expression. "Though I am deeply offended that you wouldn't let me use my own deck…"

Hawke waggled a finger knowingly. "Now, now, Varric, we must give Fenris a fighting chance at beating you fair and square. Well, as fair and square as Wicked Grace gets, at any rate."

Anders came back with a frothy mug of ale, sitting at another table across from their usual one and pulling out his own deck of cards. Fenris, deducing that he and Hawke would also be playing, was not sure if he approved or not of Hawke's plans for her evening. _At least she won't be hovering around me, distracting me. Still, if she and that apostate start playing Wicked Grace and he starts grabbing at her hands…_

Varric produced his pencil and his small notebook, tearing a blank page out and making two columns. He scribbled something at the top of each one. "What do you say, elf? Best out of… thirty-three hands, winner takes all?"

"What is it with you and threes, lately?" Fenris asked, frowning at the strange number. "You are a very odd dwarf." Hawke chuckled, and Varric gave him an appraising look.

"Threes and 'odd dwarf,' eh? Is that some kind of pun?" He hooked a thumb at Hawke. "You've been hanging around her too much." She smiled deeply at that and Fenris just raised an eyebrow, though he had thought the same thing himself.

Chuckling, Varric began tugging at the sleeves of his duster as he settled himself on the bench. "Three's my lucky number, elf. And besides, an odd number of hands means there's no chance of a tie."

"Hmm. Very well, have it your way, then. Though I doubt there is any danger of a tie." Fenris languidly relaxed his elbows on the table, intentionally looming over the shorter dwarf. He adjusted the straps of his armor, glad that he had put his chestplate and pauldrons back on after deciding it would be in his favor to look intimidating.

"Good luck, gentlemen," Hawke said with a laugh, leaving them to it. "May the cleverest man win." She gave Fenris an encouraging wink. Fenris looked aside, slightly embarrassed, which she decided to take as a compliment as she retreated to the next table over to seat herself across from Anders.

As she plopped herself onto the bench across from the apostate, Hawke asked, "So, what shall _we_ play, Anders?"

"Diamondback?" he suggested hopefully, nodding at his coinpouch sitting on the table and already shuffling his Diamondback deck.

Hawke bit back a groan. "Um… not tonight, Anders… I have enough coin outlaid for one night on Fenris."

He began to pout, but she decided firmly she would not relent. _I am not that fond of Diamondback, and playing against Anders is almost… painful. He makes the wildest bets, then gets cross when you wind up beating him. Even worse is when he lucks into a winning hand and thinks he took your coin skillfully. No, I will not put myself through that tonight. I don't need to get upset with him over a game._

Hawke feigned a yawn, though she did not have to fake the wince when she stretched her sore shoulder. "It's been a hard few days and I'm exhausted. Let's play something fun and simple. How about… Old Mage?"

"Old Mage?" Anders whined. "What are we, _eight_, Marian?"

"Just humor me, Anders. _Please?_" she asked sweetly. He began muttering rather childishly, of all the ironies, but he did relent. Rifling through the deck, he evened out the cards so they would all pair, except for a lone Magician.

"Besides, Bethany and I used to play all the time," Hawke added, hoping to obliquely broach the topic of her sister with him. "It's one of her favorite games, you know." _It's been a few days… maybe he's starting to miss her?_

"Is it?" he responded flatly. "Seems an odd game for her to enjoy. Although I suppose one where the mage has no mate is rather… instructive. In the Circle, the Templars use any close relationships against us. Getting attached is almost unthinkable." He scowled, flinging the cards rather wildly as he dealt. "The injustices never end for our kind."

_For the love of the Maker… must it always come back to this? _Hawke thought as she scrambled to gather up her scattered cards._ Maybe Fenris is right. Maybe I shouldn't be pushing Anders and Bethany together. He's so single-minded, and Bethany deserves someone who is devoted to her, not some cause, however idealistic and noble. _

She frowned at her cards, rubbing at her forehead and regretting turning down Isabela's offer to borrow her smutty romance novel. _I figured playing cards with Anders would be a good way to pass the time tonight, but I would have been far happier reading about Andraste trying to sleep her way out of Hessarian's bad graces. Despite whatever naughty urges it might have encouraged in me towards Fenris, it would be far easier to resist tackling him amorously than it's proving to tackle Anders and beat that spirit of Justice out of his stubborn, thick head…_

They began playing in silence, and Hawke listened in on Varric and Fenris's game hoping to distract herself from her grumpy thoughts about Anders. But the two of them played in relative silence for a few hands, feeling each other out before starting to get down to business.

"That scratch on your crossbow…" Fenris said evenly, reaching for the draw pile. "Do you think it will split open now that we've entered a rather humid part of the Deep Roads?"

Hawke suppressed both a snicker and an urge to tug at her shirt collar. _Going straight after Bianca — well, Fenris seems to have put some thought into this. Still, when I wished for a warmer cavern to camp in tonight, I didn't desire the opposite extreme… _Anders fanned out his cards for her to pick one, rather obviously nudging one card higher than the rest. Hawke barely kept from rolling her eyes, snatching a card from the very edge of his hand instead.

He swore softly when she made and discarded a pair. "_Balls…_"

"Don't you worry your pretty, pointy-eared head about Bianca, elf," Varric replied with a smile. He picked up the card Fenris had just discarded and made a show of placing it in his hand, which made Fenris scowl. "She'll be just fine. I'm more worried about you cracking… under the pressure of my card-playing skills."

_Well, it seems like they've settled in to a friendly rivalry rather quickly,_ Hawke thought with fond amusement. _Hopefully it won't get too personal. After all, Fenris is hardly likely to flirt outrageously with Varric like he and I were doing at his mansion. _She smiled privately just thinking about their thoroughly enjoyable evening playing cards together on his comfortable bed. _When I get him back to Kirkwall, I'll…_

"Ah-ah!" Hawke warned suddenly, observing out of the corner of her eye Anders's clumsy fingers trying to tip back the cards in her hand. "I see you trying to peek, Anders. Don't even think about it."

"Balls…" he muttered again, taking a card at random. He scowled, unable to make any matches with it. "Story of my life… I can never win, no matter what I do."

Hawke rolled her eyes before turning back to pick another card from his hand. "Maybe if you didn't always try to take shortcuts, things would go better? Learn to crawl before you walk, and learn a light touch before you try to cheat a rogue, hmm?"

Anders pouted. "Hey, you could go easy on me, you know. With my Warden senses, the Deep Roads are very tiring and distracting. And I _am_ only down here for you."

_Well, that didn't take long. _Fenris gritted his teeth, eyes flicking over to the other table, narrowing at the apostate._ Why does Hawke put up with him? The minute he has her to himself, he takes advantage. _He looked back at the cards, trying to refocus on his hand. _Hawke can handle herself. And the sooner I finish up this game, the sooner we can go to bed. Then Anders can whinge on to someone else, out of my hearing._

He chanced deftly swiping two cards from the draw pile instead of just one, pleased when Varric seemed not to notice. _Ah, now this card should help speed this hand along. _Just as Fenris placed two useless cards down onto the discard pile, careful to place the least helpful one on top and burying the other while neatening the pile, the dwarf piped up.

"So, I guess you were telling the truth the other day. About staying up late playing cards with Hawke."

Moving to pick his cards back up, pointedly not thinking about what everyone had assumed he and Hawke had been doing, Fenris continued keeping an eye on Varric. "…And?"

The dwarf kept his own eyes on his cards, not even looking as he reached to draw. "Nothing. Just seems a… quaint way to spend an evening. What with the two of you all alone in that big house of yours." He shrugged, smoothly discarding the angel of death and laying down an impressively strong hand. "Just think there'd be all kinds of things to do in a fancy mansion like that besides play cards all night."

Fenris clenched his jaw, rankled at losing another hand — and at the reminder of his cowardice when it came to Hawke. He tossed down his own strong hand, sure that if he'd been able to draw one or two more cards, he would have beaten Varric. The dwarf gave him an apologetic look and added another strike to the column that marked his own wins.

_Venhedis,_ Fenris thought testily._ I take back any good opinion I had formed of this nosy dwarf. Still, I will win this. Despite his inane chatter. _Peals of Hawke's laughter sounded from the table over, and he held in a sigh. _Or… other distractions._

The pairs continued playing their games, Hawke rather handily trouncing Anders at Old Mage while Fenris and Varric traded the lead back and forth in their contest of Wicked Grace. Though Fenris knew his implacable, unreadable face made it difficult for Varric to read his true intentions, Varric's own smooth smile and unconcerned expression made it difficult for Fenris to read him in turn.

They needled and taunted each other with remarks about many things, though the topics often came back to Bianca, Hawke, Varric's dwarven heritage, and Fenris's elven one. Both almost seemed to get more caught up in badgering one another than actually winning at cards, though neither ignored the close score as the number of hands remaining began to wane.

"When elves and humans have babies, they come out human, right?" Varric asked, pretending to consider the top card on the draw pile against whatever was in his hand.

'_Andraste knows, I would even welcome grandchildren. Half-elven would be just as precious to me…' _Fenris cleared his throat and reached for his cup of water, hastily putting Leandra's words out of his mind._ I… had almost forgotten that reason for being cautious. Is this just more goading, or did the dwarf actually overhear Hawke's conversation with her mother? Bad enough that he is so nosy — if he has the keen hearing to support his hobby, well… it would be no small wonder nothing is secret in this expedition, or indeed most of Kirkwall._

"Yes, they are," he finally answered, tone dry. He took a slow drink of water, pointedly not looking away from Varric's small, shifty hands, nor glancing at Hawke. Varric finally decided to pick up Fenris's discarded card, Fenris making a mental note of it.

He spoke just as the dwarf was deciding what to get rid of. "What about humans and dwarves? What sort of child would that be? Something slightly less short, but covered in a lot of hair, I suspect?"

"Ehh, dwarves… and humans…" Varric trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. "Most don't really go in for that sort of thing. Especially in Orzammar. The nobles are far too busy with all their concubines."

"Oh? I see. I did not know that." Though Fenris barely raised an eyebrow, he was glad that the dwarf looked a little rattled by the question. Varric finally discarded a card, expression a little distracted. Fenris took his time, it now his turn to put on a show of deeply considering whether he wanted the card or not, though he assuredly did — he just did not want Varric to know that.

When he finally made his move, with feigned hesitation, Fenris mused aloud, "You know, it occurs to me that I haven't seen any dwarven women in Kirkwall. Not a one…"

Before taking a hearty swig of his third ale, Varric sighed, closing his eyes as he muttered, "Tell me about it…"

Fenris took advantage of his distraction, swapping out one of the cards in his hand for one he'd tucked discreetly into the leather strap along his forearm. He covered the motion by pretending to scratch just as he had done throughout the evening to make the movement seem utterly ordinary. _Yes, I will be the victor yet. I need win only a few more hands and the dwarf will never be able to recover._

"Marian, you should have said sooner that your shoulder was bothering you. I _am_ a healer, you know."

Fenris's cockiness and concentration fled before a wave of jealousy as Anders got up and walked around to stand behind Hawke. He glared over at the two of them, anger flaring up hot when the mage placed his hands on her shoulders near the base of her neck. _Need he touch her there and like that? _Fenris thought, eyebrows drawing tightly together.

"You seemed so exhausted, Anders, I didn't want to trouble you. Really, it's fi…" Hawke arched her back as a warm, green glow suffused Anders's hands and her neck and shoulders. "Oh, Maker! That _does_ feel better. Mmm, thank you…" She slumped languidly with a contented smile on her face.

Fenris's competing resentments fanned each other, driving him to even more distraction. _I should have seen to her myself this morning._ _Ingratiating, fawning sycophant of a mage. And magic… hmph. How can Hawke even stomach that abomination's healing? Though she would not have needed him, not if I hadn't been a coward this morning. _His scowl deepened as Anders's hands lingered, rubbing Hawke's shoulders for slightly longer than Fenris deemed necessary for a healer.

"It is never any trouble to tend to you, Marian. You are a good friend, and it is the least that I can do."

Fenris forced himself to look away. _Friend? Perhaps I should tell Hawke about his true designs, so she will have more care around him and be on her guard. For her sister's sake, if not mine. _It still rankled that she did not take his opinion of the abomination seriously.

Distractedly taking his turn at Wicked Grace, Fenris mulled over telling her. _No, _he finally decided._ If she has not considered him in that light yet, then I certainly will not be the one to make her take a second look at that scruffy mage. _

Though he did win the current hand, Fenris proceeded to lose the next several. His thoughts consumed more with jealousy than tactics, he searched for a way to regain his footing — or at least bring Varric down to his level.

"Your brother is taller than you by several inches, is he not?" he observed, focusing grimly on Varric.

Varric just huffed, tapping his short fingers against the tabletop impatiently. "Pick up a damn card then put one down, will ya, broody?"

A few more well-timed, cleverly-worded observations about Bartrand and some lucky hands later, the two of them were tied at sixteen and sixteen, with one game to go.

_It will not do to waste Hawke's coin, _Fenris thought, stalling for time as he shuffled thoroughly, trying to keep tabs on the angel of death card as he sorted out his own jumbled thoughts._ I do not even understand where this jealousy comes from — I have no claim on Hawke. This thing between us… _He steeled himself, wearily dealing the final hand of the night. _I have been trying to drive it and her away more often than not. But now… now I find myself getting used to it, even though I do not understand it._

Varric went first, since it had been Fenris's deal. He sighed heavily in disappointment that Fenris suspected was genuine for a change. It heartened him enough to draw his focus in more sharply on the game.

"So, elf, any jealous former girlfriends that Hawke will need to keep an eye out for when we get back to Kirkwall?" The dwarf drew and discarded, meeting Fenris's gaze for the first time since they'd starting playing.

Fenris blinked at him a few times, focus dissolving away once again. "Um. What?"

"You've been all over Thedas, right?" Varric asked, shrugging. "I figure with your brooding, there's bound to be a few crazy exes out there who will show up, looking to fight Hawke to win you back." Fenris's eyes began to narrow, but the dwarf continued undeterred. "I know she can handle herself, but… well, it's best to be prepared. This is Hawke we're talking about, after all. Things… just sort of happen around her."

Fenris leaned forward, voice a low, threatening murmur. "I have taken all I am going to take of this line of questioning, dwarf. Now play or forfeit, before things just start happening around _you_."

Not looking the least bit phased, Varric diplomatically replied, "It _is_ your turn, you know."

Fenris scowled for a few more moments, then stared down at his cards. _This dwarf and his incessant need to name things. I don't even know what it is like to have a friend, let alone what this thing between Hawke and me signifies. _He drew a card, staring at it blankly for a moment before even recognizing it. He added it to his hand, sullenly discarding.

"The only one who pursues me is Danarius," Fenris muttered angrily. "The rest is none of your concern."

Varric's eyes flicked over to Hawke, who was fully engrossed in trying to get Anders to talk about the queen of Ferelden again. Looking back at Fenris, the dwarf carefully picked up the discarded card and added it to his hand.

"Look, elf," Varric said, tone friendly and easy-going. "I'm not trying to step on those bare toes of yours. Hawke… she's my business partner, and a friend. A good one, too. Of both." Fenris looked away, frowning. "I just try to keep an ear out for her. I've only known her, what, about a month longer than you? But she's unique. Rare — the sort of person that grows on you fast." Then Varric shrugged and grinned. "Though I guess I hardly need tell you that."

The dwarf discarded a card of his own, chuckling warmly, but Fenris didn't smile. He merely drew a card and discarded quickly, still not looking up, hair obscuring his expression. _Anders and Varric both call her friend, but they have known her longer than I. He is not wrong in his assessment of Hawke, but what he assumes about her and me… No._

"Just… whatever is going on," Varric said, sorting his hand, tone both quiet and nonchalant, "know that I've got Hawke's back. And if she's got yours, well… Then I guess that means I do, too."

Fenris quietly grunted, unable to find any words for a moment. "Hmph." _That was almost straightforward, for Varric. I suppose this is what Hawke meant when she spoke last night of his true character. It is rather… unexpected._

Silently taking his turn, Fenris looked up at Varric as he set down a card. "It… seems I must apologize," he said with slow sincerity. "I had thought you merely goading me." He rubbed the back of his neck then shrugged, trying to release some of the tension he felt. "Despite how it might seem, I have not forgotten that you fought alongside me that night, against the hunters. I do appreciate your help."

Varric waved a hand, wrinkling his face dismissively. "First, I was goading you, elf. And second, it's Hawke you should be thanking. Not me." He drew, smiling broadly at whatever he card he'd lucked into, then placed a useless card down. "I just follow where she leads… though, maybe I gently hint at where to go, from time to time."

Fenris drew his own card, briefly pressing his lips into a flat line before trying to smooth his face back to neutrality. Not only did all the personal conversation about Hawke make him uncomfortable, but he could also feel victory slipping from his grasp. _Perhaps if I tell the dwarf what he wants to hear, he will have something to distract him for a change and I can concentrate… I will put all my cards on the table, so to speak._

"Hawke already knows she has my gratitude," Fenris explained quietly, glad for once of Hawke and Anders's loud bantering. "I owe her a debt, one that I do not yet know how to repay — though I do intend to repay it. _That_ is why I follow her. She has my aid as long as she wishes it." _Though it seems the longer I follow her, the more indebted I become. And even this expedition hardly seems to make a dent in it…_ He looked over his cards, not really having a choice but to discard a suit that would undoubtedly help Varric. _Chased up a tree by a tiger… just my luck._

As Fenris had suspected, the dwarf snapped up the card almost as soon as he set it down. "You might want to tell _her_ that sometime, then, elf. She seems awfully certain you're going to just up and leave town one of these days." Varric slapped down a card, adding hastily. "Not that it's any of my business, of course."

Fenris didn't even bother considering the worthless serpent card Varric had thrown away, though he wound up drawing yet another serpent from the draw pile. "And how would you know?" he asked with suspicion, disgustedly chucking the weak card away.

"I'm not about to give away a lady's secrets, but… let's just say you really should read her journal sometime." Varric lay a finger beside his nose, the same furtive gesture Hawke had used when sneaking Fenris the last of the bread the morning after they camped on the Wounded Coast.

Fenris just looked away again, dismay over his illiteracy outweighing his curiosity about what Hawke may have written about him. _Even this dwarf knows more about this than I do. But her journal holds no answers for me. Besides, it is back at my mansion. There seems no possibility of figuring any of this out._

"And that's the game, I'm afraid," Varric announced, laying down the angel of death and his made hand. "Well, whaddya got? Something better than four of a kind songs?"

Fenris reluctantly lay down his full house, angels full of daggers. It wasn't a bad hand, but it was not strong enough to beat Varric's. "No…" he said simply. "I have nothing."

"Ah well," Varric said sympathetically. "It was a close one." He toasted Fenris, declaring, "You play a fine game, serah. No doubt next time, it'll be even closer. Don't worry, I'll give you a chance to win Hawke's sovereign back." He drained off the last of the ale he had been nursing before gathering up the two gold coins and hopping off his bench.

"You're a good teacher, Hawke," he called to her over his shoulder, heading to top up his ale mug. "I barely beat the elf, here, by one hand!"

Hawke put her cards down, glancing between the dwarf and over to where Fenris sat slowly gathering up her deck at the other table. "Awww, was your match truly won by _one_ hand? It was that close?" Varric just waved the two sovereigns over his head in response and she shook her head. "Maker, I wish I had known! I would have loved to watch the final hand play out."

Then, giving an apologetic glance to Anders, Hawke scooted off the bench and went to sit next to Fenris. The mage frowned at her quitting mid-game, then went to get himself some ale, leaving Hawke and Fenris relatively alone together.

"Tough opponent, isn't he," she said softly, smiling to herself when Fenris slid a hidden card out of the leather strap on his forearm. _Well, isn't that clever… I'll have to watch out for him if we ever play in our armor._

"I could have beaten him. I should have won," Fenris grumbled, checking to make sure all the cards were present before he bundled them up. "I just kept getting… distracted." _By Anders, by Hawke, these thoughts of Hawke, the dwarf's constant comments about her. _He frowned, wrapping Hawke's long, red, satin ribbon around the deck, hastily tying a bow before sliding it over to her._ I should have been able to ignore it, to block it out._

Hawke tucked the deck into her pocket, still smiling at him. "It's all right, Fenris. It's amazing that you were able to come so close to beating him on your first try. I doubt I could have done it, and I've played Wicked Grace for years. Varric usually goes easy on me so I won't forswear ever playing him again."

Fenris just made a disgusted noise, waving one hand and clenching the other into a fist on the tabletop. "An almost victory is not a victory, Hawke. I am better than this." Then he looked down, leaning away from her and reaching to untie his coinpouch. "I lost your sovereign, but I will repay it. It would not do to waste so much of your hard-earned…" He cut off as Hawke placed her hand over his, forestalling him.

"First, it was my own idea to front your wager," she explained fondly, smiling and squeezing his fingers as she gently tugged his hand away from his belt. "Second, I only put up a sovereign so Varric would take the game seriously, so you could get the experience of truly playing. And last…" Hawke settled his hand back against the table, glancing over to where Varric and Anders chatted away near the ale barrel.

Seeing that they were preoccupied, she turned back to Fenris, reaching up to tuck his hair aside. Though he still did not meet her eyes, her smile deepened when he seemed to lean into her touch. "And last, you can't repay me for something I've freely given, Fenris."

_She says it is freely given, yet… why does it feel like I owe her? _he wondered, eyes closing at the feel of her fingertips brushing against his temple. Though her touch made him want to relax, his thoughts caused his face to crease deeply in thought.

_For that matter, it feels as if I am more in debt to her each day I spend in her company. Though I follow her and help her, most days I feel as though it is I who owes her. I have never protected anyone this willingly — but then, no one has ever done half so much for me as Hawke. Even though I owe her a debt, she insists on paying me, giving me things, teaching me… _

He sighed as Hawke's fingers pulled away._ I do not understand why… I do not understand any of this. Nor does it seem as if I am ever likely to. With no memories except fighting and running and being a slave, how am I ever supposed to understand this, or her? How can I repay her when I do not know what I owe?_ Fenris propped his elbows on the table and resumed his usual hunched posture, leaning his forehead against his entwined hands.

Seeing the unhappy look on his face, Hawke had to fight very hard to keep from acting on an urge to rub his back soothingly. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no," Fenris droned, staring at the wooden tabletop. "There's nothing to talk about."

"You came very close to winning. It might have just come down to luck, you know. I'll bet you get him next time; you're a fast study." She smiled, but Fenris did not look up from staring sullenly down. "You do think you can beat him, right?"

"Perhaps." _If I could get Varric to leave his mouth closed, I could almost undoubtedly win. Or if I could get Anders to leave Hawke alone. Or Hawke to be less distracting. But what are the chances of any of those things occurring?_

"Would some wine help?" she asked encouragingly, ducking her head to look up into his eyes. "Shall I bring over a bottle? We haven't had any in days."

Fenris just shook his head, looking away, and Hawke frowned a little at his pointed avoidance. _Well, he does like winning,_ she thought._ Maybe he just wants to brood a little over his narrow defeat. _

She sighed quietly, deciding that yet again leaving him on his own might be the best option. "Well, I think I am going to have a cup of tea, then go to bed. I am dog-tired, and I'm not just saying that because I'm Fereldan." She chuckled at her own joke, hoping to get at least a small, crooked smile out of Fenris — but she still saw nothing but broodiness on his face. _He usually laughs at my dog jokes… Oh well. I did try. Can't win them all, Marian._

Hawke stood, waiting for a moment until it was obvious he wasn't going to follow. "What about you? Will you be along soon?" Fenris gave a small shrug. She offered sweetly, "Shall I roll out your bedroll for you?" _Perhaps he'll take the hint and come be sullen in the tent, at least. I hate to leave him here looking so lonely and dejected._

Fenris slumped further at her kind gesture. _I should not let her do even more for me when I cannot even understand or appreciate what she has done so far, _he thought, already losing himself in frustration_. Such attentiveness on her part_, _and such… confusion on mine. To say nothing of my cowardice. Or this… jealousy. I am not used to experiencing these things, any of them._

"Thank you, Hawke, but I will take care of it," he answered distractedly. "I'm not yet tired. I think I will sit here awhile and… think. Goodnight."

_The distractions, the questions, the difficulties with my markings… It is much to take in, and so fast. I had hoped today would be calmer with my better mastery of my markings, some battle to further calm my mind, and cautiously keeping myself from getting carried away with Hawke… but I feel nearly as much turmoil as yesterday._

The smile Hawke had forced onto her face faded at Fenris's reply. As she watched, he turned his face away from her, his already impenetrable expression becoming utterly obscured in shadow.

"Oh. Well…" _I guess I am on my own. _"Goodnight then, Fenris," she replied, backing away. "Happy… thinking."

Hawke walked quietly to their tent, glancing back a few times to consider Fenris's bowed head and stooped posture. _Definitely brooding, _she thought, feeling a little dejected herself._ Yet I had no idea he took his Wicked Grace this seriously — he enjoyed it back at his mansion, rebounding rather fiercely from his defeats. I would not have pressured him to play Varric so soon if I had known it might rattle him so. _

_Still, men and their competitiveness… I suppose I should have guessed. Father and Carver were much the same, though not half as good at looking so thoroughly abject after a loss as Fenris._

She sighed before she quickly went about brewing her tea, still watching the tables near the mess tent. With Fenris remaining to think and Anders and Varric off by the ale barrel making up for lost drinking time, their part of camp in the humid cavern was eerily silent. Hawke wasn't entirely sure she was grateful for the alone time, despite not having to hide her tea brewing activities.

While she waited for the water to boil, she grabbed a bedroll and spread it out inside the tent, sighing again when she knelt to smooth it down. _Andraste's lucky nose ring, I would have had to have grabbed Fenris's bedroll tonight… _She patted down the thick, padded fabric, taking in his warm, unique scent. _Well, I'm not swapping them. I'd have to roll it back up just so he can unroll it himself… and this way, I miss his presence a little less. And I truly am tired — I should conserve my energy for tomorrow._

Anders and Varric finally made their way back to camp just as she was draining her tumbler of tea. They both kept well away from the small fire, setting aside coats and pauldrons and complaining about the heat and the Deep Roads in general. Hawke bid them goodnight before she got sucked into their resumed conversation about using magic to cheat at cards.

"I'm not saying that it can't be done, Varric," said Anders, turning back to the dwarf after wishing her sweet dreams. "I just think that it would hardly be a compelling argument in support of the cause of free mages if we all started using the Maker's gifts to_ cheat at games_._ For coin._"

Varric rolled his eyes. "You know, Blondie, generally when people give you gifts, they want you to enjoy them. I'm just saying, maybe… try it sometime." He sipped at his ale, then paused. "Although, not on me. Not that it would help you much. Your tells could still be read from a mile off."

"Oh really? Well, I will have you know I have since perfected my card playing face." Anders's tried to pull a blank expression, but he grimaced a little with the effort of trying. "Go ahead, tell what am I thinking now, then."

"Hmm. Probably something about hating Templars and how unjust the world is," Varric answered without hesitation. Anders's grimace darkened. "And now possibly lighting dwarves on fire," the dwarf added with a shrug.

Hawke shook her head and went to bed, leaving them to their friendly bickering. Tossing and turning and generally trying to get comfortable in the somewhat stuffy, too-quiet, too-empty tent, she finally decided to sleep on her other side, facing the tent wall. _It won't do to make my shoulder sore again after Anders's just healed it. And Fenris isn't even here. _She took a deep, calming breath, trying not to brood over him. _Besides, it's hot in here, and I can feel a slight breeze on my face this way. Sod… I mean, blasted, hot cavern. I think I preferred it cold._

Taking a few more deep breaths and stretching out, she tried to put her worries over Fenris out of her mind. It was difficult, however, with the fresh scent of him on the bedroll every time she nestled down. _Fenris will be fine, Marian. He's just nursing his wounds, trying to come up with some clever, new strategy to beat Varric. And he will probably want some space when he finally comes to bed down for the night anyway. _Hawke undid the top two buttons of her shirt, tugging at the fabric a few times to cool off a little before settling back down to sleep. _No doubt he is still concerned about his lyrium markings. All day he has been every bit as cautious as I tried to be, and this way, there is no pressure on him. If he needs a little space, he can take it. The best thing I can do is let him come to me when he's ready._

Still, despite her self-reassurances, she fell asleep hoping that when Fenris finally came to bed, he would want at least a little bit of contact._ I miss his hands. And caressing his face. Or the feeling of his heartbeat against my fingers, my hand bunching up the silk over his chest. Mmm… maybe he'll be ready to try that again tonight. I'm sure I'll hear him come in, and maybe… Well, we'll see. _She drifted off with a sigh, thinking,_ After just a few days, it already isn't the same, sleeping without him nearby…_

Fenris remained at the table for some time, deep in thought and keeping an ear out for when Varric and Anders finally retired for the night. _They both call Hawke a friend, but they have known her longer than I, and neither owes her anything. She is Varric's business partner, and he gets as much out of accompanying her as she gets from his aid. And the apostate… _

His mouth flattened as he thought of Anders. _Well, it is obvious why he wishes to call her a 'friend.' Despite Hawke apparently being unable to help him with the tranquil he still mourns, whom I was told he himself killed out of supposed kindness, she protects Anders just as she protects her sister. And a mage will always take advantage — especially __**that**__ mage. _Fenris rubbed at his forehead, still unable to think of a way to convince Hawke of the truth of Anders's intentions. _I understand that her sister is her family, but the abomination? He already takes every opportunity to twist Hawke to his point of view._

Even as he thought it, Fenris realized he himself was not wholly innocent of doing the same thing, just arguing the opposite side. _And yet I have lived it. I have seen first hand where this path of Anders's leads. Even the best of intentions can still lead to ruin, and I am certain that that mage's intentions are far from anything good. Free mages will make themselves magisters — it always happens. It has happened before in the Imperium, and it would happen here, too._

The thought of magisters made Fenris think immediately of Danarius. _Hmph, and though Varric's concern about me bringing danger to Hawke may have sounded ridiculous at first, it is a troubling thought. Undoubtedly Danarius must have realized that I had help, or he would not have fled so quickly. Still, he probably would not assume Hawke to be anything other than perhaps a hireling. Which she was, at the time. _He pointedly did not try to come up with a label for what she was to him now, knowing that to be the root of his confusion.

_When Danarius seeks to return, however, he may indeed discover that things have changed. If she truly means to help me when that time comes… I will have to ensure that nothing happens to her as a result of her choice to aid me. I could not bear the thought of her being hurt or worse on my account. _He stared angrily at the markings along his arms, then looked at his hands. _I did not want these, but Danarius will not kill me or Hawke to get them back. I will not allow it._

As he made his hands into fists, Fenris thought suddenly of the way he had kissed Hawke's hand the night before and the way she had kissed his in return. _No doubt Danarius would be furious that his pet showed affection for any other but himself. He enjoyed showing me off and having me intimidate others, but… he did not want anyone but himself touching me. Though even his favorite pupil enjoyed flaunting that prohibition from the start. _

His thoughts turned to Hadriana then, simmering anger beginning to boil hotter. _And that bitch would undoubtedly hate Hawke for daring to have any success where she herself failed. _Fenris thought of the way his former master's star apprentice would waylay him, corner him, or sneak into his room, then force her attentions on him whenever she got the chance. _As if I didn't have precious little enough peace during those years of enslavement to Danarius. She sought to take every last moment alone from me and turn it into further torment. If I ever get my hands on her, she will get to know my touch very intimately indeed, and I will make it as unpleasant for her as she did for me…_

Even as the memories of Hadriana's foul, intimate caresses began to revolt him and drive away his sweet thoughts of revenge, Fenris finally heard Varric and Anders fall silent. _Bah. Enough of these thoughts. I should get some sleep. I clearly will not figure anything out tonight, and tomorrow brings another day's march down deeper into this… wretched place. _He stood from the bench, taking a moment to stretch his leaden legs and regain feeling in his backside. He rubbed at his lower back, scowling a moment at the hard, wooden bench before quietly heading for the tent.

_Hawke should surely be asleep by now,_ he thought as he undid the leather straps at his forearms and elbows. He slipped his chestplate and pauldrons off as he walked, a precaution against awakening her should she not yet be deep in slumber. _She does sleep very deeply, but that is no reason to risk waking her. There is no use in both of us being disturbed tonight._ Fenris carefully set his armor aside with the rest of the neat pile beside their tent before gathering up the remaining bedroll.

As he slid softly through the tent flaps, he took in the sight of Hawke asleep and sprawled facedown away from him on her own bedroll. Almost half of her lay pressed to the cool stone floor, though her face nuzzled against the bedroll fabric as she stirred. Her soft, comfortable clothes were a bit twisted and riding up her arms, legs, and torso, baring rather more skin than he'd ever previously seen of her. Judging that the tent was somewhat stuffy, he could only assume that, in her sleep, Hawke was trying to cool off.

Fenris quickly unrolled his own bedroll alongside hers and tucked open one of the rear tent flaps, letting in a little relatively fresher, cooler air._ Well, _he thought a little distractedly, sitting cross-legged on his bedroll as he considered both her state of dress and his own, _perhaps I will forgo my silk shirt tonight. It is indeed rather warm in here. She is unlikely to wake up or move from that position, knowing her. Once she falls asleep, she barely shifts at all. _With his light sleep and constant awareness, along with Hawke's own cautious care of him, Fenris was confident that nothing untoward would happen if he made himself a little more comfortable for one night.

_Bad enough having to wear my leggings to bed. The only way it could be worse is if I had to wear boots… _Still, he unbuttoned his tunic while keeping a wary eye on Hawke's sleeping form, and he placed the folded garment within easy reach so he could pull it on if anything happened in the night. Already cooler and more comfortable shirtless, he settled back onto his bedroll, finally noticing that it smelled strongly of Hawke.

The usually comforting scent of her immediately brought his jumbled questions back to mind. _Fasta vass, I have never so looked forward to returning to a place as I do that mansion. My quiet room, my bed, my bathing tub… _He sighed quietly. Missing his borrowed mansion was almost as confusing as his mysterious relationship with Hawke, and Fenris had to forcibly block all his churning thoughts as he tried to go to sleep.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the weak illumination and sulfury air that the open rear tent flap allowed in. _One day closer to Hawke's goal, and one more day of getting used to this… whatever it is between us, _he reminded himself. _Well, at least there was no trouble with my markings. Between the fight yesterday and the ambush today, they feel quite under control for now. That is one less haunting thought for the night, at least. _He felt the barest hint of a smile quirk up the corners of his mouth. _Haunting. Hmph. Lyrium ghost._

Folding his hands over his bare stomach and taking a deep breath, Fenris calmed a little with the feel of the rise and fall of his own breathing. Hawke sighed in her sleep shortly after he did, a short, soft snore that trailed off and made him both want to chuckle and roll his eyes. _Hmm, well, at least I did not awaken her, it seems._ All became relatively silent again, the usual thrum of the stone floor and vague, soft roar of the air currents becoming the most prominent sensations to him. As he tried to sleep, Fenris could not help but think back on the conversation he'd had with Hawke the night before, about her father.

'_I suppose he just finally found someone he wanted to be with.' That is what she said when I asked her why her father would persist with courting Leandra. _Though he had thought about Hawke's words since last night, Fenris still did not fully understand.___Could that really be enough?_ I believe her when she says that her parents were happy together, yet… it hardly seems their beginning can be that simple. It sounded as though Malcolm barely knew Leandra, and their lives before they met were utterly different. Hawke said they did have some things in common, but… He did not even try to puzzle that out, feeling too inexperienced and also too tired to wonder what commonalities an orphaned apostate mercenary might have with a Free Marcher nobleman's daughter.

_Indeed, Hawke's father intended to leave Leandra behind and flee,_ Fenris thought instead, able to understand that part of the story, at least._ Yet he changed his plans and risked his freedom to take her with him. It is difficult enough for one to flee from such pursuit — I know that firsthand. But for two to run and hide, one an inexperienced noblewoman, at that? Why risk himself and her that way? _He thought about it briefly, then recalled Hawke's own explanation for Malcolm's change of heart.

'_He would never have to be alone again…' _Those words gave him pause, just as they had the night before when she had first spoken them.

Fenris thought of his own long, lonely years of flight, of moving from place to place with no familiar faces and very few unguarded ones. _No family, no friends, no knowledge of what those things even mean, no end to the pursuit, no one to trust but myself… _He opened his eyes and looked over at Hawke, who seemed to be sleeping more comfortably as the tent became less hot. Then he looked back up at the tent ceiling, staring blankly at the canvas.

The cozy tent and Hawke's own presence reminded Fenris of her other words about why Malcolm Hawke, a savvy, skilled, but hunted man, would risk so much for a woman he had not long known — one who had devoted herself to him despite everything. '…_Able to carry his home with him, no matter how far or how often they had to flee.'_

Though he could sense the similarities, he dared not consider the possibilities, just as he still dared not think of Hawke's cleverly worded declaration yesterday, still too unsure and hesitant from his previous experiences to even acknowledge those hopes.

_Hmm, well… _he mused instead,_ it is no wonder why Hawke asked me if being alone is hard when we were leaving Kirkwall. Her father would indeed have kept his family close, once he had one. To belong, to be taken care of, never alone… _Fenris envied her that closeness, though he knew she and her family had also been forced to run often. _It would be difficult to flee with so many, but her father must have thought it worth it. And it made him teach his children well, for Hawke and Bethany are both capable and strong. _

Then he thought of their brother, Carver, who had not survived their flight from Lothering. Fenris clearly remembered the grief on both of the sisters' faces when they spoke of their brother. _Still, I suppose having a family to care about also means you become vulnerable. Then, should something happen, you must carry the grief of losing someone, too. Hawke's father has been gone for four years, yet Hawke looked… pained last night when speaking of him, even still. _

The envy Fenris felt for her family abated somewhat as he shied away from the idea of more suffering, even as he longed yet again to remember who he was and where he had once belonged._ I suppose I feel the pain of loss even without the benefit of knowing who or what I did lose, _he thought, the empty feeling inside him straining his heart just as it always did. He rubbed absentmindedly at his bare chest, the chain of his wolf pendant sliding against his fingers.

_I told Hawke the truth on the road here; the loneliness can be ignored, sometimes, but truly, it never does get any easier…_ He looked back at Hawke again, taking in the sight of her utterly comfortable and vulnerable, as trusting of him in her sleep as she seemed when awake.

_And yet, she spoke truthfully, too, _Fenris admitted to himself._ I am not so alone as I once was. And I am not fleeing. Not anymore — I intend to make my stand against Danarius, once he comes for me again. Down here in this forgotten, underground place, I am not even hunted or pursued. If any of Danarius's bounty hunters even still follow me, they would have attacked during the past three weeks. And if they picked up my trail now, they would await me on the surface. _He knew better than to hope Hawke was right about Danarius taking a year to regroup, but he also knew that if Kirkwall hadn't been cleared of the hunters, they would have shown themselves before he entered the Deep Roads.

_The Deep Roads is dangerous enough in other ways, but, _he thought cautiously_, it… seems there is no danger of capture. For now_. Immediately and out of habit, Fenris ran through a thorough reassessment of the situation to ensure he had missed nothing._ None of the hirelings have given me pause, so there should be no treachery from that quarter. Hawke's companions, too, seem above suspicion on that count. Without the maps and the scouts, any hunters stand little chance of successfully following and navigating our treacherous path through the Deep Roads to find me. Indeed, any sane person, even someone as proud as Danarius, would assume it more likely I would die down here and never let me get this far. _

_No, if they followed, they would have done anything to prevent me entering these tunnels. _Satisfied, he came back to his original conclusion.

_No pursuit at present – and with Hawke, and Varric, too, at my back, and my own formidable skills… I have little to fear at the moment._ He let the thought hang in his mind for a while, absorbing its significance. His eyes shifted from the tent ceiling to Hawke again.

_No hunters. No Danarius. No one but Hawke and I. Alone but… together. _The idea of it swelled in his chest, driving back the lonely ache and replacing it with a wholly different one. _I have little to fear in this moment._

Fenris thought suddenly of gathering her up in his arms, of holding her close despite the heat, hoping, believing, knowing that he had mastered his markings and could control them for her._ For the time being, I am free, and I should live as a free man does. Time is precious, and to waste it would be foolish. I've wanted this very thing; wanted it for so long. No more hunters at my heels, freedom within my grasp, no longer alone… __I have fought for this, I have come so far for this. __And Hawke — Marian — I have come to want whatever this is more each day I have known her. I have taken what she has already given. Why should I not take more? It would all feel so __**right**__._

But Fenris found that he could not make himself move. He could only run his eyes over her, drinking in the sight of her exposed calves, her lower back, and her sides, finding the curve of her waist and her bare skin so tantalizing and inviting in the dim light — but not enough to make him break free.

_If I am not hunted, then why do I wait here? Why don't I feel free? _he thought with deep frustration, struggling against the only life he could remember, one of pain, fear, and bitter disappointments. _Why can't I just go to her as I would wish to? As I so often dream of doing? _He finally moved, but turning onto his side, away from Hawke as the thoughts of Danarius and Hadriana came back to him unbidden. He closed his eyes, willing it all away. _The markings, the memories, the pain… _

Crossing his arms across his bare chest and curling up on his bedroll, Fenris still felt terribly exposed and isolated. _After running so long, after so many ambushes and near escapes, after nearly losing control with Hawke herself — letting my guard down seems an invitation for disaster. I have seen what can happen, and I have dreamed of even worse things. _He wanted to believe he could never hurt Hawke as he had in his many disturbing nightmares, but the awful memory of what he had done to the Fog Warriors denied him even a semblance of assurance.

_I enjoy following her and she, too, seems to enjoy my company, but… I cannot seem to go much further than following her lead. I do not know what I am doing, and that is dangerous. _He thought of his lyrium flares with her, his previous poorly worded attempts to force Hawke to keep her distance, and the terrible, blind instinct that had claimed him when they fought Arvaraad's squad._ I have sworn to protect her, yet I have come too close already. Taking her hand has proven harmless, but__…__ anything more?  
_

Fenris wondered what it would feel like to have her touch him unarmored, the memory of her hands running sensuously over his vambraces and of his own careful handling of her making him doubt his own reluctance. But his thoughts were too swiftly replaced with different ones. Ones of his own hands clawing for the clasps of his vambraces, scrubbing against the metal and the leather padding and his own skin, desperately trying to rinse blood and gore away in the salty waters of the Ventosus Straits. He had felt nothing but horror that morning over three years ago as he knelt on hands and knees on the southern coast of Seheron, hoping futilely that the cold waves would cleanse him of the Fog Warriors' deaths.

_Perhaps… _Fenris thought, quickly and ashamedly putting those memories aside,_ perhaps it is for the best that I do not get any closer to her, given… my past._

Determined to sleep before more waking nightmares could claim him, he settled down deeper against the bolster. It smelled enticingly of Hawke, however, and he sighed heavily, finding her scent stimulating rather than calming. _Time and again I raise my guard around her, yet… she slips under it so often. I do not know what to do other than pull away when she gets too close. _

Fenris shifted even further over to the edge of the bedroll, where her scent was less strong. It felt odd to him though, as if he would roll off onto the stone floor and up against the side of the tent. He gritted his teeth, stirring again and trying to settle in regardless._ And now even pulling away seems… wrong. Being with her does feel somehow right, yet… it just doesn't feel as it should. Though I admit I have no idea how it should feel. _

He thought how the two of them must look just then to an outside observer, her carelessly sprawled out and asleep and him wide awake and wound like a spring, cowering as far away from her as he could get. _Surely it is not supposed to be like… this. _Fenris could almost palpably feel her sleeping presence even with his back to her, his lyrium-etched skin tingling more from a desire for her touch than with memories of the markings being burned into him.

He ignored the sensation, not wanting to fantasize about Hawke's hands on his back lest he wind up inadvertently recalling Hadriana's loathsome fondling, with which he was unfortunately more familiar. _No,_ he thought angrily, _it is I who am not supposed to be like this. If I was a normal man, I would not have reason to hesitate. Even her father, who was a mage, an apostate even, hunted by the Templars, who ran almost his whole life — even he was more normal than I can ever hope to be. _He clenched his fists against his chest, huddling tighter.

_Curse these markings… it is no wonder this all wrong. _Fenris tried to put it out of his mind and rest, hoping that perhaps he could at least resume his dream from the night before — of being normal, not having markings, not fearing Hawke's touch. He tried to recapture it, picking it back up where it left off, willing himself to continue the dream and drift off, seeking some short respite from his waking reality.

_She admired my arms, then removed my vambraces and ran her fingers along my back. We were… very close. Then she tried to kiss me despite this wretched place being unworthy of her. So I promised once we got back to Kirkwall, we could practice. And then… _He struggled to settle his mind, recounting the dream from the beginning each time when the thread of the fantasy kept breaking as he tried to figure out what would come next. But after several long, quiet minutes of this, Fenris still kept returning to wakefulness, unable to dream or even fantasize. He could not make his tense shoulders and back relax nor force himself to sleep, despite mental weariness, physical tiredness, and years of practice falling asleep whenever he got the chance to as a slave.

"By all the Old Gods," he growled impatiently under his breath, rolling onto his other side to face Hawke again, but without opening his eyes. She made a soft, sympathetic-sounding noise in her sleep that only made him feel more frustrated. _Venhedis. She even pities me in her sleep… _He kept himself both from growling and from regretting his decision to share a tent with her.

_When Hawke could not sleep the other night, she said she usually empties her thoughts into her journal. But I cannot __write, nor __do I not know what my thoughts are to even begin emptying them_. Fenris's growing irritation was diverted momentarily as his thought of her journal reminded him of his conversation with Varric. He began to wonder what was in it that the dwarf had referred to during Wicked Grace.

Grateful for the distraction, Fenris figured, _Whatever it may say, Hawke truly must not want me to go. Not if Varric thought to mention it. Despite his constant attempts to rattle me with talk of her tonight, he seemed unusually direct and sincere on that count. Which is especially unusual for him. _Though he had a hard time understanding why someone like Hawke would care about the plans of a fugitive elf slave, Fenris wearily decided to simply accept that she must. _That she cares at all is flattering… an honor, even. But why?_

Irritation at his insomnia waned as he tried to reason out Hawke's motivations. _She wanted my help for the expedition, obviously._ _And she is no friend of slavers; that much has been clear from the night we first met. And her father and her family had often run… perhaps she simply does not wish that fate on others? _He remembered what she had said the night she stayed at his mansion. _'You should consider living… You deserve some happiness.' I suppose it is what she is seeking herself by doing all this… adventuring, as she calls it. _Fenris himself called it normal life. _I have put three years and the length of Thedas between me and my past, and still it won't stay there_…

He sighed, wondering how he was supposed to go about turning his efforts into happiness the way Hawke was turning her adventures into a future for herself and her family. _She speaks much, but I feel as though I understand so little of it. So little of her.  
_

His thoughts drifted back to her family, and once more to their conversation about her father. _Well, at least now that I know more about Malcolm Hawke_, _I do understand better her words about the women in her family having a history… with unconventional men. _Fenris still could not bring himself to think of her actual words, attributing her bold use of the word 'loving' to the Antivan brandy, and probably simply referring to her mother's devotion to her father.

He opened his eyes, looking at Hawke again. Though their bedrolls were side by side, she was so far on the other side of hers that he would have had to stretch to reach her from where he lay on the far edge of his. _Well, hers really, _Fenris thought, wondering if she truly couldn't smell the difference between their bedrolls — or if she could.

The latter was a tantalizing prospect, he found. The idea of her taking in his scent while he was absent strangely aroused him, and he had difficulty settling his thoughts again as he thought of rubbing noses in his dream and wondering what it would feel like to have her rub hers elsewhere. _Hair, wrist, neck, chest. Lower… _He shifted on the bedroll, allowing himself to inhale her scent. _To think that she might enjoy mine as I enjoy hers… _

Deciding to somehow find out if it was true in the morning, Fenris noticed that he was still fidgeting, his thumbs stroking along his own crossed, bare arms as he thought of her. _Touching her is the one comfort I am lacking, _he knew, acknowledging why he was unconsciously making the motion.

He studied the slopes and curves of Hawke's exposed sides again, envying her unmarred, creamy skin, free as they were of markings. _Though I may be a coward and cannot hold her as I wish, how easily I forget that she has no markings, no pain when I touch her, no reservations about losing control of herself and hurting me. She has made so many countless, careful gestures, and yet they are not for herself — they are for me. _

Fenris knew he warranted such care, even as he wished it was unnecessary. _I wanted her to fear me, for I do not trust myself. It seems that she may have finally taken that lesson to heart, for she has been far less reckless with me than I have been with her. _Again he thought of his lyrium flares, which had undermined his boldness in taking her hands to press against his face and chest and in holding her by the waist as she put his vambraces on.

He could still hear the frantic sound of her voice each time, thinking how it always turned to quiet reluctance once he had regained his composure. _The thought that she pities me, that she thinks, or worse, knows that I am… weak… vulnerable… broken? That she makes allowances for it? Makes allowances for __**me**__? No, _he thought disgustedly._ That is not flattering, nor an honor. I should not need such allowances. _

_I should be stronger. Better. More capable. _The thoughts deeply rankled, and Fenris felt himself growing as angry with himself for not being more, as he was furious with Danarius for forcing the markings upon him and making him less in the first place. _I should not even be this… living weapon. No one should be made into more an animal than man. They did this to me… But now I continue to let myself act as if nothing has changed, despite claiming that it has, despite wanting to leave my past behind me._

He felt his whole body tightening, beginning to quiver with rage, frustration, and bitterness — mostly over his own cowardice. _I cannot remove these markings, nor will I let Danarius tear them from my flesh. And I cannot change the past. But I needn't act like a coward. Not here, now, in the present. I did not want this for myself, but the lyrium branded into my flesh has proven useful in gaining and keeping my freedom. Yet will I let it hinder me after coming so far? What use is slipping my collar when I continue to think of myself as less than a man? _

Fenris stared at Hawke, feeling even more absurd in his agitated state as he observed the gentle rise and fall of her slow, measured breathing. _She called me brave. Yet am I truly scared of this sleeping woman? Hmph, _he thought, gritting his teeth._ I am better than this. I am better than all of this. _He tried to match his breathing to hers to calm himself._ I am free. Free to do as I wish. _He consciously forced himself to loose his muscles, to stretch out along the length of his bedroll, to be as languid as Hawke looked.

Still his hands fidgeted, thumbs running over the pads of his fingers as he considered her back._ If this does not feel right, then I should trust my instincts and move_._ If pulling way feels wrong, then… she is there. She wants me. I want this_. Fenris lay his hands on the bedrolls, in between his body and Hawke's, like she had done each night prior. Though she was asleep and and he could not seen her face since she was turned away from him, he thought of the look on her face as he held her in the oak tree, when he tucked her hair behind her ear, when she'd helped with his vambraces.

_I have already extended my hand to her many times. All I need do is… do it again. I need not get close, just… closer__, _he reasoned, knowing that he would rest better with her than without her, wanting something that day to make more sense and not less, needing to prove to himself that he was no longer a cowed slave, that he was not a coward of a free man_.  
_

_All I need do is… go to her._

Moving to action before he could hesitate, Fenris determinedly shifted over to put himself within reach of Hawke, halfway on both bedrolls. He slid one unwavering hand along her hip, slowly feeling his way along as the curves of her through her clothing gave way to the warm, supple flesh of her bare waist. She shifted, making a soft, contented sound and he let his hand come to rest, palm cupping the dip of her waist, his long fingers splayed across her slender stomach. He held still, wondering if she would awaken. _And if she does, what then?_

But Hawke made no further signs of stirring, so after a moment Fenris carefully wound his other hand in her hair and finally felt himself relax. _Yes. That is better. It is more… right. _He knew it was a compromise between his true wishes of wanting to hold her and his current reality of restraint, but he was too cautious and uncertain to take bolder action. _It is more than before. Even a small victory is a victory._ He let himself enjoy it, even as he began to inevitably wonder what came next.

_I should be pushing myself, I should be trying harder, _Fenris told himself sternly, one thumb stroking Hawke's side and the other, her ear. _Too long I have been afraid, running, alone. I say I want to live as a free man does, yet I do not consider things from any other viewpoint than the one I know. And thanks to Danarius, what I know is precious little enough — only this wretched half-existence or being a slave. _He scowled to himself, his hands holding more firmly to Hawke.

_I keep thinking of myself as broken, weak, and worthless, just as the magisters would want. But why should I let them influence me any longer? No, I should endeavor to be better than this. My dreams of having no markings are just that: dreams. I must find some other way.  
_

Again, Hawke's words echoed through his mind. _'I don't think I would change anything about you… I would see you happier, though.' _Fenris moved even closer to her, pushing himself as close as he dared while still taking pains to keep anything except his hands from touching her. Even as he flexed his new resolve, he was as always cautious not to overreach lest what little he had gained slip through his grasp. _Though there is much I would change about myself, I cannot say that I disagree with her other remark._

Thinking then of her comfort, Fenris lifted his head and considered what he could see of Hawke's sleeping profile. He found her perfectly content, her peaceful, unguarded expression in profile achingly beautiful. _She can be so selfless, and I do not understand how,_ he thought, wondering how she could sleep on despite everything, finding it unfathomable to imagine himself doing so._ She even seems to do it almost without thinking. She is open and giving, even in her sleep._ _It is no wonder she has so many friends, and I have none. _Fenris settled back down, thinking about all the other ways in which he already studied her and envied her, and he wondered how, with his limited experience, he could ever understand her.

_What hope do I have of understanding anything about this thing between us if I do not understand her in the first place? _Sighing tiredly, he let his eyes slipped closed.

_I will try harder,_ he resolved, not wanting to revisit the topic that had started him down the dark, confusing path that night after just finding some measure of peace. _I will study her more closely and be more… attentive._ _If she can do it, so can I. _Hawke resettled on her bedroll, burrowing against the hand he had entwined in her hair. Her body writhed beneath his fingers as if she were trying to snuggle closer, though Fenris kept a careful, steady pressure on her back to prevent her from pressing up against him. He refused to think of having restraint and consideration for Hawke as further evidence of his cowardice. _I need time. I will get used to this eventually. For now, I have more than enough to think about for one night, and I need to sleep. And I do not wish to risk waking her._

Still, once Hawke quieted again, Fenris felt a warm surge of affection, and also a swell of pride in his decision to reach out to her. _She seems to want me, so I will give her what I am able._ He daringly stroked her bare lower back for a few moments before placing his hand on her side again. Then, judging by her deep sigh that she unconsciously approved, he counted up another small victory. _E__ven in her sleep it seems she enjoys my company…_

As Hawke slept deeply on and Fenris tried once more to go to sleep himself, he continued to revel in the feel of her beneath his fingers. Though still as confused as ever, he maintained a center of calm and kept his swirling thoughts flowing, finding it indeed markedly easier than in previous days to do so. _Perhaps it is because she is asleep, or perhaps my mastery over my markings truly is growing. Perhaps I am getting used to this._ He knew he could use his powers if he wished to concentrate, as always, but there seemed no imminent danger of his emotions spiraling out of control on their own.

_I enjoy this far too much, _he realized as he began to drowse, fingertips slowing but still caressing Hawke's warm skin._ It does feel good to freely give her something for a change. _

With that contented thought, he finally went to sleep, both keeping himself at a distance while giving Hawke as much of himself as he could.

* * *

_4 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon_

The next morning, Hawke awoke to the feel of Fenris's cool fingers stroking along her brow.

"Ennhh… mmm," she groaned, first unhappy to find herself awake, then rather pleased at the sensation that roused her. Still, her entire body protested. _No, it can't be time to wake up. Sleepy. Perhaps I am dreaming. Yes. Bartrand hasn't even shouted anything horrible yet. And I don't even remember Fenris coming to bed. So… yes, I must be asleep. Mmm, sleep…_

She scrunched her face, eyes still resolutely closed as she realized she was laying completely flat, her cheek against the fabric of the bedroll. The tender feel of Fenris's touch on her forehead stopped as she scooted herself further up to lay her head against the more cushioned bolster. Smelling Fenris's scent on it, Hawke buried her face in and inhaled deeply. _Maybe the scent of him will help the dream of his touch resume. I would like that… _

Settling back down as she exhaled, she sighed quietly and contentedly. "Mmm, Fenris…"

But Hawke froze halfway through fully relaxing as the quiet rumble of a chuckle came from somewhere beside and above her. Then fingers curled under her chin and a thumb ran across her lips. _If this is another one of those weird dreams, _she thought apprehensively,_ where I open my eyes and see Anders or a darkspawn or Uncle Gamlen or something, I will stab someone…_

Fenris smiled to himself at the consternated look on her face. _She truly does like sleeping in. Not that I mind taking the time to wake her — it is rather gratifying to hear her sigh my name like that… _"It is time to rise, Hawke," he said gently, thumb moving to stroke along her jaw. "Bartrand will undoubtedly begin shouting soon. I thought you might like to be awake before then. So you can… fully appreciate it." She gave a tired, resigned chuckle at his teasing, and he released her face to take her hand.

_Well, if I must wake up, I suppose this is close to the way I would prefer it to be. Still… _"Remind me next time we come to the Deep Roads to do so on my own terms," she groaned, bedding back down. She tugged at her twisted clothing unsuccessfully with one hand since Fenris now held the other firmly. "Bad enough it's so hot without having to wake up so blasted early."

"You do look quite hot," he agreed seriously. "I assume that is why your shirt is half undone."

Hawke's hand flew to her somewhat exposed chest, pulling the gaping fabric more demurely over herself. _Andraste's lacy red breastband… I had forgotten I undid a few buttons last night. And it feels like more came undone while I slept. _She finally opened her eyes to see Fenris sitting cross-legged on the stone floor next to her bedroll, watching her quietly with his back against the tent wall. _He is already in his tunic, _she thought with a twinge of disappointment. _That is not fair._

The blow was softened as he rubbed her hand between his, then kissed the back of her thumb. "Come, it is time you were awake."

He kept his gaze on her hand, but Hawke's own sleepy eyes opened wider. She felt suddenly much more alert, her usual early morning fog utterly fleeing at the feel of his lips on her thumb. _How is he even up before Bartrand if he did not come to bed when I did? _she wondered, suddenly remembering how she'd fallen asleep still missing his presence and touch.

She drew herself up, propped on one forearm. "What are you doing up already, for that matter, Fenris? You did sleep, didn't you?" She looked him over more closely, searching for signs of exhaustion or restlessness.

"I do not need much sleep, Hawke," he reminded her, fingers toying with the band she wore on her finger, much like how she always fiddled with his rings. "And I slept very well in fact. I just… woke early and decided to get started with the day." He inclined his head towards the open rear tent flap, and Hawke looked over at the bucket of cool water he had already brought for her morning ablutions.

Taking advantage her moment of distraction, Fenris flicked his eyes upwards wryly at his other reasons for waking early. _I did not expect to actually continue that dream from the night before… and I certainly did not expect it to skip to our return to Kirkwall and 'practicing' at my mansion… _

It had taken some careful, quiet exploration, but after he had awakened, Fenris found a suitably secluded corner of the large cavern where he could be utterly alone with his thoughts. Though no one except Bodahn and Sandal had even yet risen when he crept off, Fenris had been concerned that his lyrium markings might flare again and attract attention. But the dwarves had been too preoccupied in the mess tent with starting breakfast to notice him slip away. Then he had managed to keep his markings to a quick flash that would not have been noticeable from his concealed spot, especially with the general illumination in the large cavern.

"Was… there something on your mind, Fenris?" Hawke asked hesitantly. His attention snapped back to her as she gazed at him with concern after noticing the distant look on his face. _Perhaps whatever he was thinking about last night is still bothering him? _she fretted. _Something more than just cards. His markings again?_

Fenris tried not to flush, realizing that he'd been distractedly remembering his dream again. When he looked down to cover his reaction, however, he felt his cheeks burn hotter as he once more took in the sight of Hawke so thoroughly disheveled from sleeping in the warm tent. _Fasta vass, I am supposed to be trying harder to be attentive. Why must my — no, her distractions be so numerous?_

"There are always many things on my mind, Hawke," he grumbled, determined to meet her eyes again. As he did, her brow furrowed with worry, so he smiled reassuringly at her. "But right now, I think only of getting you up and dressed." Fenris moved one hand to her side, gently tugging the hem of her shirt down, though he let the side of his hand trail along her bare skin.

Hawke looked down at herself, then aside, sleep-flushed cheeks going even warmer than the stuffy cavern warranted. "Yes… I suppose I must look quite the sight this morning," she remarked, trying to keep her tone light.

Fenris responded only with another soft chuckle, standing gracefully with her hand still held in his. He extended his other hand to her, which she hastily took while looking anywhere but straight ahead. His narrow hips were of a height with her as she sat on her bedroll, and she did not want to be caught peeking between the tails of his tunic at his snug leggings and the contours of what lay beneath.

He helped her to her feet, and Hawke quickly shook out her legs, letting the bunched fabric of her cropped pants slide back down past her knees. Fenris released her hands and leaned down to retrieve a waterskin, handing it to her as he straightened. She lifted an eyebrow at his anticipation of her needs, but accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink as she moved off the bedroll.

Fenris had already begun to roll it up, and she remarked after lowering the waterskin, "You certainly are on top of things this morning, Fenris."

He paused, not looking at her as scenes from his pleasant dream came to mind. _Yes, I certainly was… _Then, putting his early morning fantasies out of his mind again, he finished bundling up the bedroll. "It is the least I can do, Hawke. Besides… this _is_ my bedroll." Expression carefully neutral, he waited for her response, still curious about whether or not she knew it was his bedroll, and whether she enjoyed his scent on it.

_I have been caught… _"Oh… um, yes. You noticed, too?" Hawke rubbed at her neck, which was a little stiff from how she'd slept flat against the stone floor. "I just grabbed the closest one and didn't realize it wasn't mine until I already had it spread out. And, well… I guess I didn't think you'd mind," she explained, looking a little sheepish. _And I missed you, and then it just smelled so much like you…_

After standing, rolled up bedroll tucked under one arm, Fenris inclined his head. "One bedroll is much like another," he replied noncommittally. "I just thought it… curious, that you could not tell the difference." He kept any hint of disappointment from his voice.

_Hmm, it seems it was just a mistake. I probably do not have a smell for her to enjoy in the first place. I do not notice anything, after all. _He wondered if she would enjoy it if he did. _Well… perhaps I, too, should find some new, Orlesian soap, once we go back to Kirkwall._

Then he thought of himself, a rather distinctive escaped slave and elven squatter, shopping for fancy soaps in Hightown. _Perhaps I should just let her choose one for me. _Though he had not really thought much on it before, he knew that he'd likely have plenty of coin to spend if the expedition was even half as successful as Bartrand estimated. _Living in the lap of luxury like some fat magister…_

Hawke thought of Fenris's fresh, intoxicating, masculine smell and how it had motivated her to keep his bedroll out. Glancing at the lone bucket of water and deducing that he must have already washed up for the morning, she drew closer to him, hoping to catch a whiff of his scent, fresh from the elf himself.

"I wasn't being _reckless_, if that's what you're thinking," she teased, daring to run her fingertips through his already-combed hair as if to fix it, pleased when he did not pull away. "I was just too lazy to roll it back up." Fenris rolled his eyes in wry amusement at her admitted laziness, shaking his head, and with the motion she caught the scent of soap, leather, and just the barest hint of fresh grass, which still somehow clung to his tunic.

"Besides, you smell nice," she admitted, defending against his disapproval. One of his black eyebrows shot up in a fetching arch and, seeing that she had successfully diverted him, Hawke smoothed his hair back down before releasing him and shrugging. "I might even continue to steal your bedroll from now on. Especially if you continue to roll it up for me." His other eyebrow rose, and she smiled slyly. _Maybe that will make him think twice about not coming to bed with me, too…_

"If you start taking it every night," Fenris reasoned, "…wouldn't it simply become yours?"

_Always so practical… _"You and your early-morning bedroll logic," Hawke sighed heavily, preferring their usual morning flirting to trying to think too hard upon awakening. "This is why I prefer beds. No swapping, no rolling them up — you just… get in and enjoy. Much simpler, and more comfortable." She closed her eyes and began rolling her neck illustratively, wincing as as she rubbed at it. _Comfort or no, I am already more than pleased with this morning. Despite sending me to sleep alone last night, now he has come back. And so attentive! Such a nice change… I could learn to live with his brooding if he makes up for it like this._

_To think that she enjoys my scent… To think that she wants me, would share a bed with me, _Fenris thought, beginning to feel as aroused as he had upon awakening. Tantalizing scenes from his dream burst forth vividly from his memory, visions of unmarked limbs tangled together warmly, of experiencing tender closeness, of drowsing the day away, marking the passage of each lazy hour with kisses, of no longer feeling alone. _I have never so looked forward to returning to a place as I do that mansion…_

Heedlessly, Fenris dropped the bedroll to the ground and reached to pull Hawke's hand away from her neck. Momentarily startled, her eyes popped open, but she did not resist. He moved her hand to her side before brushing her hair back to rub her neck himself.

"Oh Maker, Fenris…" she murmured, eyes slipping closed again. His other hand slipped along the other side of her neck and began to massage there, too. _Andraste's stained-glass snuffbox,_ she marveled,_ his hands!_

"You clearly are not meant for bedrolls," he said, his voice as soothing as his strong, lithe fingers, which worked away at her tense muscles. They kneaded with practiced skill after years of rubbing down Danarius whenever the magister had wished it of his favorite pet. _This I do for her freely, _Fenris thought with determination, keeping his thoughts clear and eyes on Hawke's blissful face. _No Danarius. Just Hawke. Marian. She and I, alone but… together. _

The feel of her to him was utterly different from the feel of the old magister. Where Danarius's neck had been thick and corded, Hawke's was slender and lithe; where Danarius's skin had been loose and starting to wrinkle, Hawke's was smooth, supple, and inviting. Massaging her was hardly any effort at all compared to working on his former master, who had been a virile man in his prime and had still cut a fairly powerful figure the last time Fenris had seen him.

_But Hawke… _Fenris thought heatedly, running his eyes along her body. _She is strong, but also small enough that my large hands can easily tend to her all over…_

_Is it his markings I feel tingling against my neck? _Hawke puzzled, experiencing every sensation acutely with her eyes closed. _The hum of it, his cool hands, those clever fingers… whatever he is doing, it feels amazing against my sore muscles. Maker, where was he yesterday before Anders decided to heal me? I would have much preferred this… _She began to sag, her entire body turning languid under his ministrations.

"Kneel," Fenris said, feeling Hawke already sinking beneath his hands and worried that she might lose her balance. Complying immediately and without opening her eyes, Hawke folded her legs smoothly beneath herself and sat back on her heels. He moved behind her and crouched, resuming the massage from the rear so he could also work on her shoulders. Along with her neck, they, too, felt tense to his experienced touch.

Fenris set his mouth with grim satisfaction that Anders had failed to fully alleviate her shoulder soreness. _Magic may be able to reduce swelling and knit muscle back together, but it does not stretch it out or make it pliable again. _It was a fact that Danarius often lamented to other magisters or just the open air while his elven pet bodyguard kneaded him after a battle, a duel, or simply a strenuous night's 'entertainment.' Even as he commanded Fenris to do it, he would complain of wanting to find a way to accomplish the same thing using magic so he could find better uses for his slave — though he never truly bothered to look into it.

As Fenris's large hands almost fully enveloped her shoulders and began kneading, the fabric of her loose shirt bunching beneath his touch, Hawke groaned, and Fenris found her noises to be profoundly more contented and appreciative than anything she had actually said to Anders the night before. _Hmph. Hawke's father was a wiser mage than either Danarius or Anders. Why use magic for anything when two capable hands can do far more?_

"That feels so much better than any healing magic I have _ever_ felt," Hawke sighed, as if reading his mind. He redoubled his efforts, and a pleased whimper escaped her lips as her head lolled forward, chin pressing against her chest. Fenris noted her pleasure with a deep sense of pride. _Yet another victory. Here is something else I can do for her, and another way to use for myself what was forced upon me as a slave. _

"About sodding time you bastards got up!" Bartrand called in deep, gruff, and oddly sing-song voice. "How many days have we been down here? Don't you get it yet? Do I have to do everything around here? Varric!"

Hawke did not even jump when the Bartrand's resounding shouts thundered across the cavern, so relaxed was she under Fenris's touch. "Please don't tell me that means you have to stop, Fenris," she pleaded weakly, not lifting her head.

Fenris did not stop squeezing, instead digging deeper against her shoulder blades with strong thumbs. He leaned heavily towards her, bearing down to loosen the taut tendons deep beneath her muscle that were also pulling on her neck and causing her to ache further. She groaned appreciatively, pressing back against his hands but allowing him to manipulate her however he wished.

"Part of getting you ready for your day is ensuring you are prepared for battle, Hawke," he finally answered, murmuring into her ear.

As he pressed in towards her, Fenris drew close enough that he could lean in to bury his nose in her hair and take in her aroma — which he did. _So much better than my dream_, he thought, though in his dream he had buried his face in her hair from a different angle and in a much more restful state for both of them.

Hawke whimpered wordlessly and softly again at the feel of his warm breath against her ear, at his face nuzzling against her hair, and at his skilled fingers plying deep. She found the sweet ache of it all both painful and thoroughly enjoyable. "Maker's breath, Fenris," she said, utterly breathless herself, "in that case, I hurt all over…"

"Well… Then show me," he responded quietly, utterly serious. _I will give her whatever she needs and whatever I can. She has no markings, no reason for hesitation,_ he reminded himself, though he hardly needed the motivation._ And clearly my hands bring her… comfort. _

Hawke did hesitate however, and he had to pull back as her head lifted to regard him over her shoulder. "I… I didn't…" she stammered, looking a little alarmed. "You don't… I mean, we have nothing but time. No rush. Not this morning, I mean, obviously we don't have a lot of time this morning… We should rush. But not like that, of course… Though even if we did have time, that isn't to say that I wouldn't… or that you'd have to…" She continued to babble on, looking back down at her lap, wringing her hands together as she made a stream of excuses and offered him any number of pretenses to halt for the morning.

Fenris gritted his teeth at how she was making allowances for him again. _Venhedis, it is bad enough that I hesitate, that I have not given her more until now. I do not need her turning aside what is offered, afraid to accept my attentions. I should have been better than this all along. I do not want her pity — I want her._

Determined to press on, he slid his hands into her loose collar and rubbed her bare skin, his hands spreading open her partially unbuttoned shirt. _No markings… how I would wish for that. How I have longed for that…_

Hawke's protests cut off abruptly with a short gasp. _The… warmth. The strength. The __f__eel__ of him. Andraste's… something… I cannot even think what._

"Where else, Hawke?" he asked calmly, before his resolve could wane or she found some reason to hesitate.

Without thinking, Hawke's hands went to the edges of her shirt's v-neckline and pulled, sliding it completely free of first one shoulder, then the other. Her head dropped forward again as she fumbled with the remainder of the buttons, and her soft, grey top fell fully away to rest in the crooks of her arms, exposing her chest and upper back.

Though Fenris continued his attentions, his eyes wandered to absorb the sight of her as he memorized everything new and appreciated any familiar features all over again. His hands soon began to follow his gaze, trailing down her shoulders and across her back, grazing the top of her breastband. Hawke arched as his thumbs ran up her spine and his fingers splayed out, the tips brushing against the backs of her arms.

Her back bowed again and Fenris slid his hands forward to grip her upper arms, stroking up to her shoulders, then down into the gathered fabric of her shirt, to her elbows. Her armor was practically sleeveless, so he was more than familiar with seeing her arms, yet as he kneaded them, he was surprised at how much thinner they felt than his own. He was an elf and used to how even most moderately strong human men had biceps similarly-sized to his, though his true strength was deceptively much more than met the eye. But he had never before put any thought into how he compared to a human female. Feeling Hawke's comparatively slim arms amused him deeply, enough that he actually chuckled at it, and Hawke shifted, roused out of her languorous haze by his laughter.

"What?" she demanded, accusatory tone dampened somewhat by the relaxed, sultry tone lacing her voice.

"Nothing…" But he gave her upper arms a few quick, teasing squeezes. Hawke scathingly tsked at his impudence, flexing in defiance of him as she pretended to pull away, mock affronted. Her movements made surprisingly lean, hard muscles pop up under his grip and, as he playfully tried to hold her fast, Fenris thought of the lightning-quick, sharp motions she made with her daggers while fighting.

"Nothing, hmm?" she chided. Hawke pressed her hands against her thighs and turned to smile wryly at him over her shoulder, showing off the lithe definition of her back, shoulders, and arms to good effect.

Somewhat chastened, and also distracted by his unimpeded view of her chest and the tops of her banded breasts, Fenris apologized immediately. "I stand corrected. You are definitely… something." It was Hawke's turn to chuckle, and she turned to face forward again with a self-confident smile on her lips.

Starting to feel rather unstable as he crouched, Fenris went to his knees. He resumed limbering up Hawke's neck and shoulders with larger, bolder motions, now that he was unimpeded by her shirt and able to get a better grip on her bare skin. Her contented noises also became bolder, as well as more frequent, and Fenris found himself determinedly seeking out every small knot, little ache, or tender spot, hoping to tease his name from her lips one more time.

"Oh, Fenris…" she groaned yet again, as he inched his fingers up along her spine. He planned to knead her from the middle of her back all the way to the top of her head, already smiling deeply from the countless small, murmured victories that he had racked up that morning. _Hearing her sigh my name with my own ears instead of hearing it in the Fade… there is no comparison. _

Hawke arched her back again, though she did not even know how she managed it. _My whole body feels like it is made out of liquid, _she thought dazedly. _His touch is unlike anything I have ever felt._ The thrum of the stone floor beneath her legs seemed almost to amplify the vague tingle of his hands, and she could not help but say his name again in wonderment.

"Fenris…" _What did I do to deserve this? Maker… _

He felt himself falter when she breathlessly called his name again, for it sounded so much like her panting cries from his many dreams. Fenris's eyes slipped closed as he tried to refocus on the path he was stroking up past her shoulders, but he could feel himself tightening and starting to ache more with every writhing motion of her beneath his hands. _I do not know what I did to deserve her attentiveness… but I do know that I enjoy returning it, _he decided.

"Mmmm, Fenris, yes… right… right there," Hawke sighed, as his fingers slid to the base of her neck, perfectly pinching, kneading, then caressing the increasingly sensitive area. She felt her arms break out in gooseflesh as he leaned towards her again and his soft, warm breaths stole across her neck. _Maker, his… How does he even… Andraste's pert…_

As she made a new sound, a soft, plaintive coo for him, Fenris shuddered, bearing down on her as his own tightness contracted further and momentarily stole his balance. _Festis bei umo canavarum, _he thought distractedly, pulling just short of pressing his arms against her back. He shifted, resettling himself and trying to adjust his increasing discomfort. _I do not know why I even bother going off to be alone… _he thought, trying to dim his arousal by mentally compressing it away. _It never helps for very long with her always so near._

Keeping his eyes closed, knowing that the sight of her would only make matters worse, Fenris let his fingertips trace up along the sides of her neck to carefully gather her hair up. Hawke shivered gratifyingly, so he also smoothed a few locks of behind her ears, eliciting another involuntary shudder from her as his fingertips traced along the curve of them. Other senses heightened by his lack of sight, the alluring scent of her hair captivated his attention as it drifted up to him from her stirring.

The fragrance drew him inexorably forward, and his fingertips grazed along Hawke's jaw as he gently tilted her head back, bringing her to him since he could not press up against her. She did not resist and he did not relent, and soon he had his forehead pressed against the top of her head and his face buried among the soft, thick, berry-and-honey scented strands of her hair.

"WHAT? I don't see anyone at the breakfast tables YET? What are you blighters waiting for, serving girls to come to your bedrolls and spoon-feed you? Let's move, people! And where's VARRIC?"

They both completely ignored Bartrand's irascible squalling, past caring and distantly satisfied that everyone else must be taking their time that morning, too.

Fenris inhaled deeply of Hawke's hair, his fingers now playing along the front of her creamy neck. "You smell nice," he growled as he raggedly exhaled, a little surprised at the gruffness to his own voice. _I have never been this aroused with anyone around to speak to, _he realized.

Then he thought of how well honey and berries went with the sort of porridge that was waiting in the mess tent whenever they finally got around to leaving their own. _Delicious…_ "Good enough to eat," he murmured enticingly.

The fingertips of one hand explored the dip of her collarbone and the hollow of her throat, playing along and under the short necklace Hawke wore. The fingers of his other hand trailed up to her tilted chin and back down again, softly caressing her exposed throat. Though the rest of his body was tense and wound tight, Fenris was achingly careful to keep his touch light, gentle, and controlled.

_That was just a nightmare,_ he told himself, pushing away the fear that he would make a mistake that would cost Hawke her life. _It was a nightmare and it was weeks ago. It was Hadriana's neck I wanted to crush, that I thought I was crushing_. _I know Marian now. I could never mistake her for Hadriana. She is nothing like that cruel bitch. _

He forcefully put the disturbing dream and Hadriana out of his mind and focused back on Hawke._ I would never hurt her. I could not. If Danarius commanded it of me, it would be he who I would kill, for I will never take another order from him again. The last one… never again. Never again. I would not do that to her. I owe her so much. Too much. I could not harm her. I could sooner tear out my own heart. _Eyes tightly shut, Fenris willed his thoughts to be the truth and not just hopes, knowing and fearing how often his hopes failed him, leading to disaster.

"Mmmm…" Hawke's hands came up involuntarily to press against her chest, sliding up to bump against Fenris's coiled and writhing fingers. She was completely caught up and carried away with the way he had her arched back into him, utterly at his mercy. _I do not want it any other way, _she realized._ Never again will I find another man like Fenris. No one could compare to him. No one. I would do anything for him. Anything…_

"Shall I release you?" Fenris asked, his concerns growing as he felt her fingertips nudging against his hands. He slowed in stroking her, then came to a stop. _Now I do not want to let go, _he thought, just as he had when he had finally worked up the nerve to take her hands the night she stayed at his mansion. _But…_

_This feels so good, _Hawke thought, sliding her fingers along his to urge him back on again, _but if I say yes, would he find somewhere else to touch me? Or would he stop? Perhaps he wants to stop… _Hawke decided she would be content to leave herself entirely in his hands.

"Anything you want, Fenris."

Fenris's caress paused again as he took in her tantalizing response. Hawke swallowed hard and he felt it against his palm, suddenly picturing how her throat had worked to drink down the Agreggio at his mansion during lunch just a few days ago. The arousing thought tore a soft groan from his own throat, and he leaned further forward, sliding his face through her hair to growl quietly into her ear. "Anything, Marian?"

Hawke felt herself go even more weak as he said her name. _Oh Maker, maybe he doesn't want to stop at all…_ She gave the barest movement of her head, unable to nod with the way he held her bowed back and captured. "Yes. Anything," she whispered. "Ask, and I would give it freely, I _promise_ you."

Fenris could feel his entire body surge with temptation and longing, though mentally he maintained some semblance of control. "That… is a reckless promise to make," he murmured, half scolding, half warning. _This woman is entirely too fearless. Her recklessness will rub off on me if I am not careful… but I wonder if I might come to enjoy it._

Aching for him to take her up on her offer, Hawke thought, _He is so cruel to tease me like this… And I could swear the markings on his hands are humming more strongly — he might be doing that on purpose, too. Curse him, I cannot take much more of this… _But the only sound she could muster to answer his teasing was a resigned, agonized groan of assent, frustration, and need.

_Always she slips under my guard… _As vulnerable as she was in his grasp, Fenris realized he would never have any defense against the sweet whimpers Hawke made just for him. Holding her as he was by her throat, he could not only hear the sensual sound, he could also feel the hum of it in his hands. The vibrations shot up the lyrium markings on his fingers and palms, along his arms and all through him, merging with the aching tightness already roiling deep within him.

_Yes,_ Fenris thought, momentarily giving in to the visceral feeling of Hawke's eagerness for him. _To think that she wants me, to think that she would freely give me anything I might ask of her. So many things I have wanted, but never thought to have. A slave has nothing, takes nothing, but a free man… and a free woman, giving freely of herself… Yes. This feels right, Marian. Yes…_

Surrendered to the moment and suddenly powerless in the face of the overwhelming passion that had built up between himself and Hawke, Fenris could not even resist as his lyrium markings suddenly fired off. As had been his experience earlier that morning, before he could open his eyes, he could see the dazzling blue-white light through closed lids. The sound of the lyrium lines charging up in his flesh filled his ears with a quick, wildly ascending whir that rose out of his range of hearing almost as soon as it started.

"Oh, Fenris…" Hawke moaned, feeling the distinct change as his touch thrummed with the raw power of fully-fueled lyrium. She could see the burst of light and hear his ragged gasp in her ear, but it was the strong, no longer imperceptible feel of the hum in his hands that alerted her to what was again happening with his markings.

_I… I wasn't just imagining it, _she thought, enraptured as the sensation of his touch changed and intensified. _This isn't like it was two nights ago. It is, but it isn't — this feels… natural. Better. Right._ Where she had been startled and in awe the first time it had happened, and Fenris had fled the second, this time both he and Hawke were already too far gone to do anything but just let themselves fully experience it. With Fenris's face buried in her hair, her hands on his, and his hands fully enveloping her neck, she could feel him and the lines of lyrium along his palms and the backs of his hands more than ever before.

Her eyes slipped shut to concentrate on the feel of it, and she found his lyrium talent both deeply familiar and utterly strange, strongly reminiscent of being near someone using magic, but more muffled, muted, and somehow just… different. Hawke knew enough about lyrium to guess that its presence in his skin connected him to the Fade more strongly than a normal man, though less than a mage, and she knew enough about magic to recognize there was indeed something truly magical about his touch.

Hawke had often sat in her father's lap while he cast little spells to amuse her and make her unafraid of magic as a small child, and after Bethany's magic manifested, Hawke had often helped her little sister practice, covering Bethany's eyes or holding her hands behind her back so she could learn to cast magic regardless and defend herself properly.

Thus intimately familiar with the swell of mana being channeled, shaped, and released, Hawke easily identified the distinctions between it and the steady thrum of Fenris's markings. Where spells differed slightly depending on the person and the forces being manipulated, his lyrium talent seemed fully-wrought already, as though the vining tattoos shaped it and held it permanently to whatever purpose they had been originally intended.

Despite not knowing with certainty, Hawke wanted to believe his powers were similar to what she already knew, hoping to understand him better. She also wanted to believe that the hint of strong emotions she sensed was from Fenris himself, much like how she knew strong emotion could bleed over into a mage's spells. Hawke had become very close with Bethany in part because of her deep, unique understanding of her sister's reactions, strengths, weaknesses, and fears, from years of helping her practice.

And until her father's untimely death, Hawke had almost thought him completely infallible and immortal, for his magic always seemed so careful, controlled, and confident. The feel when he cast even the simplest spells seemed so unwavering and indomitable that she could easily believe his wildest tales of adventure, the sheer, resolute calm of the power he wielded belying his otherwise easy-going, ever witty and jesting demeanor.

The emanation of power from Fenris had a similar feeling of careful control and deep strength, even reminding her of the closeness, trust, and delighted awe she'd felt with her father's magic. Despite Fenris's own mistrust of mastery over his markings, which she had observed and now could swear she felt, Hawke found she could not find anything to fear about his powers or Fenris himself, apart from the constant nagging worry that he would push her away or flee.

With the reassuring grip his hands kept on her, however, she was also soon reminded of feeling magic from without, like when a healing spell washed through her or a shield settled on her skin. There was that palpable sensation of forces beyond her control enveloping her, changing her, moving through and across her, accompanied by the instinctual quickening to her pulse that even she, with her lifetime's familiarity with magic, could never quite subdue.

And most strangely of all, she had a heightened awareness of just Fenris himself, for he was more there, then less, pushing against her then receding, making her strain to focus on him as his presence faded, then overwhelming her when he surged strongly back into her awareness. She felt as if she could just sink into him or he into her, that she could share not only his touch but mingle with the very essence of him.

_Maker, what have they done to him? _Hawke wondered in a daze, unaware of anything but Fenris.

All those memories, thoughts, emotions, and sensations flashed through her and blinded her as sudden and dazzling as his lyrium flare, as quick as the fluttering, tingling, pulsating pressure of his hands at her throat and his face beside her ear. His touch sharpened then faded against her skin more quickly than movement could allow, but then the tent grew dark, and it was gone, and he felt the same as before, before she could even fully register what had happened.

_That was entirely too close, _Fenris thought, quickly releasing her as he regained a hold on himself. Hawke straightened slowly, not looking back at him, and he had no way of knowing what her expression was. He had barely kept himself from fully phasing, the struggle leaving him spent and emotionally drained, but he was grateful that he had managed to rein in his lyrium talent without having to send her away again.

Still, as he slid her shirt back up onto her shoulders without looking at her, Fenris felt the need to apologize.

"Hawke, I…" Then he remembered that she had threatened to banish him from the tent the last time he tried to apologize for losing control of his markings. Trying harder to be attentive, and not wanting to test the veracity of her threat, he decided to take a slightly different tact this time.

"I have kept you too long. I forget that you still need to get ready. I'm sorry." He carefully stood, working the feeling back into his legs and discreetly shifting as he brushed off his leggings.

_Damn his logic. I… I can hardly argue with that… _Hawke slid off her own legs to sit on the stone cavern floor, rubbing at her tingling calves. She cleared her throat before speaking, trying to regain her composure. Fenris sounded guarded, and she figured he was at least as embarrassed about getting carried away as she was. _At least he sounds less apprehensive about his markings; that is a good sign._

"There is no need to apologize, Fenris," she replied earnestly, keeping her eyes on her leaden legs. "I _was_ at least half the problem, after all, and… well, I should be quite ready to go out and kill something now. Perhaps a lot of somethings." _Maker, but I am wound tighter than one of Bianca's firing mechanisms._

More than content to leave off discussing the subject of his markings, Fenris silently walked around her to gather up the bedroll again. He also retrieved the water bucket to place it near where she sat. Before he could retreat however, Hawke quickly reached out and snagged his hand as he released the rope handle. He froze, still slightly stooped over her, barely able to bring himself to look at her, silently fearing that she was about to broach the topic of what had just happened after all.

_I have no control. I cannot be trusted near her. This is getting dangerous. I should… go. _But he could not pull away, blankly and obliquely looking down at Hawke, her hand on his rendering him unable to move or think of a destination, nor how long he need stay away. _I did not want this to happen. I did not want these markings. I did not want… this. She cannot want this._

Smiling up at him reassuringly, Hawke brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek before kissing his hand. "Thank you. For… everything." Seeing the blank look on his face, she squeezed his fingers, smile deepening. "You're spoiling me today, you know. I cannot think of ever feeling better." His eyes flicked doubtfully to the side, but she could see one corner of his mouth trying to quirk up. _Oh no, Fenris, no brooding just yet. It is entirely too early for that._

"I mean it," she urged, playing with the loose ring on his finger. She let her voice go playfully breathless, since flattery seemed currently the best way to cheer him. "The more I see of you and the more _learned_ skills of yours I discover, the more _impressed_ I am." Hawke fixed him with a meaningful look, arching an eyebrow and making the prettiest moue she had in her arsenal of charms.

_Too fearless and reckless by half. How I envy her sometimes, how I wish her fearlessness would rub off on me instead. _Fenris finally smiled a small, resigned crooked smile down at her, reaching to take her by the chin and brush his thumb across her lips. "I could say the same to you," he replied, tone deceptively even._ Every time, no matter what I try…_

Hawke knew that, with her flirtatious pose and with Fenris leaning down above her, he could see down her unbuttoned shirt, which was only loosely wrapped around her. She pressed her hands flat against the stone and leaned to nuzzle against his hand, pursing a kiss onto his thumb. The motion made her shirt slip off one shoulder again, giving him an even better view. "Well, instead of sitting here half-dressed, maybe…"

"What in the actual sodding Void is **with** you layabouts this morning? Are you all deaf? Did you all die in the middle of the night? And where is Varric? Varric! Andraste's shaven beard, someone check the bottom of the ale barrel, he probably drowned…"

Fenris rolled his eyes and straightened, gazing in the direction of the shouts with a shake of his head. _Dwarves…_

Sighing, Hawke pressed one hand to her forehead and shook her head too. _There's always something. Why do I never have time for love?_

"I will bring you your pack," Fenris said grimly, already moving to retrieve it. "It sounds as if he might start calling for you next, _girly_."

"And we don't want that, if it can be avoided," Hawke agreed with a heavy sigh, folding her legs under herself again and pulling the bucket over. "I'd better go check on Varric before breakfast. I hope he _didn't_ drink too much ale again. I didn't bring that much elfroot…"

As soon as Fenris disappeared from sight, Hawke removed her shirt entirely and tossed it aside. Then she quickly tugged up on her breastband, looking down at herself and plumping everything together nicely. _May as well make a good impression… _she thought, patting, pushing, and smoothing everything into place before running her hands through her hair. _It is the least I can do for him after this morning. And yesterday morning. _

She began to think of Fenris shirtless, getting ideas and hoping the sight of her shirtless might make _him_ get some ideas too. Then Hawke heard the sound of her pack jingling and began to panic, waving her hands and looking to where her shirt lay, too far to reclaim and put it back on. She forced a calm over herself, reasoning,_ Too late, Marian, too late. I just need to get ready, and my shirt was mostly off anyway. Besides, he's already seen most of it now, and I still have my breastband on. I could go swimming like this. I have gone swimming like this. No big deal, Marian. None at all._

She was still trying to figure out how to pose and what to do with her arms, in the middle of crossing and uncrossing them as Fenris rounded the corner. He halted, quickly and cautiously scanning the area outside the rear of their tent before entering and depositing her pack by her. He did not speak and Hawke found she couldn't meet his eye. _So much for acting like adults…_

"Thank you," she said airily, quickly pulling out her soap, washcloth, and a towel. Before she could bring herself to glance at Fenris's expression, he turned and walked a few paces off. She lost her nerve and looked down again by the time he turned back to stand by watching her. Taking his loitering as a compliment, however, and forcing herself to remain unconcerned and unhurried, she leaned down to splash her hands, face, and neck with the soothingly cool water. But even with her eyes closed, she could feel his weighty gaze on her. _You did this to yourself, Marian… Andraste's knobbly knees, can't he just say something though? _

"You know…" Hawke said conversationally, droplets of water dripping from her eyelashes and nose as she picked up her soap and started to lather her hands, "I at least had the courtesy to pretend I wasn't ogling you yesterday, Fenris."

"You do admit you were, though," he retorted dryly. She sagged down a little, realizing she had rather given herself away by chiding him. Unable to defend herself, she instead rubbed at her face, then used her washcloth to cursorily scrub her neck, chest, and behind her ears before rinsing. They both remained silent while she finished washing.

_She is like no woman I have ever known,_ Fenris thought, growing distracted again, devouring the sight of Hawke and memorizing every exposed contour of her. No one but desperate whores and Hadriana had ever so exposed themselves to him, though he had on occasion glimpsed rather more than he wished to of Danarius's pleasure slaves. Fully appreciating the opportunity before him, Fenris found he could think of little to do but simply watch as he got his first taste of what a true woman looked like.

He relived the moments of the night before as his eyes traced the curves of Hawke's waist, imagining how his fingers must have looked trailing along her slender stomach. As she leaned over the bucket, he imagined her instead crouched above him, poised for any number of delightful activities, much like something out of his dream of kissing her in bed once they returned to his mansion.

And when she finished washing and straightened, he willed the sight of her generous, banded breasts to banish every hateful memory he had of Hadriana's. _That bitch would be jealous indeed, and she would have every reason to be, _he decided, reaffirming his belief that Hawke was far superior in every way to the scheming, foul woman who had plagued him for years.

_She forced her attentions on me when I wanted nothing to do with her. Everything about Hadriana was what she wanted. And like Danarius, what she wanted more than anything was to own me completely, to enslave me utterly and bind me to her by every means possible. _

_But Hawke… Marian. She offered me anything __**I**__ wanted. Given freely. Anything. I wonder…_

As she patted her face dry, Hawke finally looked to where Fenris was standing quietly near the rear of the tent. His face was impassive as ever, and she didn't quite know what to make of it.

"What?" she finally asked, feeling a little defensive and as ever unused to the scrutiny she felt under his piercing gaze — especially given that she was shirtless. _Andraste's double chin, I would almost prefer a poor reaction to none at all. Did I make him feel like this yesterday? He seemed so unconcerned. How very like him though, as he seems utterly unaware of how devastating he is. Terribly unfair man. Cruel, even._

Fenris advanced just far enough to lean down and pick up her bucket. Keeping his gaze on it instead of her, he said hesitantly, "I was just wondering if… you were serious. About… what you said… earlier."

Hawke pressed her towel to her chest, immediately knowing what he meant, remembering what she had told him in her unguarded moment of ardor. Her mouth went dry, so she cleared her throat before responding. "I, uh… was."

He stood very still, eyes looking everywhere but her. "I… would not keep you to it, of course. It was a very reckless thing to say, after all." His attempt at levity fell a little flat, however, since he both wanted her to mean it and hoped she would rescind it. _To think that she wants me… and with such a promise, such an invitation… _

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. _But no, it would be too tempting. No. She cannot have meant it, not like that. _Though he had thoroughly enjoyed the morning, except for his markings flaring, Fenris knew he was more confused than ever about what Hawke was to him.

Hawke stood, setting aside her towel before going to him. Placing one sweet-smelling hand against his cheek, she leaned nearer to murmur into his ear as he'd done to her several times that morning. "Reckless I may be, but I rarely make promises, Fenris," she explained seriously. "Because when I make a promise, I always keep it."

Fenris remained quiet for a while, staring mutely down at her toes, her legs, her waist, her snug breastband, then finally taking in the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. _Anything? I would not even know… where to begin. I barely know myself, I do not understand so much about her. I know nothing of… any of this._

"Hm." He finally just grunted, shaking himself out of his trance, knowing Bartrand would undoubtedly start yelling again soon. _Even if she meant it, I do not have to accept her promise. There is nothing more she could give me now, regardless. Not with my markings. Not with the lingering pain, the memories of torment and agony… of Danarius and Hadriana using me as a pet and a plaything… _

Fenris thought of his dreams, how Hawke's offer meant he could ask her for any of the comforts, delights, and experiences he longed for — yet all of them things he found himself unable to do out of fear, shame, and guilt.

_Even if she gives it freely, I do not deserve anything. She knows nothing about what I am truly capable of. I do not even understand her. And the memories… the pain. _He cringed inside from the years of unwanted, painful contact with Danarius and Hadriana, from the long stretches of his short memory that were filled with endured torments or lingering agony. Though he dreamed often of Hawke and wanted much, the prospect of actually taking what he wanted was too daunting, too fraught with the possibility for disappointment, too overwhelming for him to understand in the face of all his other uncertainties, hesitations, and confusion.

_No, it is too much. Too much for me and too much of a promise. I should make her take it back. It is too dangerous, too tempting for both of us otherwise. I cannot hold her to it. I will not allow her to make it. Not when she values promises as highly as I do._

"I… will have to think on it," he found himself saying instead.

Hawke smiled softly as she pushed a few locks of his hair aside then released him. "Take all the time you need."

Fenris left to empty the bucket as she began to dress. He fumbled to close the rear flaps of their tent as she began to slip off her soft, sleep-wrinkled pants, refusing to torture himself further with glimpses that would only serve to fuel his frustrations and dreams. Instead, focusing on the long day ahead and on ways to beat Varric at a rematch of Wicked Grace, he went about finishing getting ready for breakfast.

After returning Hawke's empty bucket to the side of the mess tent, which was indeed notably absent of most of the hirelings, Fenris returned to the tent to put on his armor. Hawke, freshly and once more fully dressed, had just finished lowering her travel sack into the back of Bodahn's wagon. She leaned against the side of the cart, waiting and watching as he approached.

Tsking and shaking her head ruefully, she gestured up and down at him. "For all your getting up early, you are the last one to finish getting ready, Fenris."

Fenris responded to her teasing with a flat look as he retrieved his belt, settling it on his hips before cinching and buckling it without releasing her gaze. "I cannot help it if you dawdle, woman."

Hawke feigned shocked disbelief, but soon could not help but laugh. He himself began to smile, pleased overall with his redoubled efforts and their results, even if he was still reeling from everything that had happened. _It is not even breakfast yet and already she has given me more to think about than everything from the last three years combined… _

As Fenris shrugged into his chestplate and pauldrons, Hawke left off gazing appreciatively at him to peer over his shoulder as Anders backed slowly out of his tent. "Oh, looks like Anders made me a liar," she observed. "He isn't quite dressed yet either. Probably this heat in here." She pressed her fingers against her lips, stifling a giggle as Anders began to drag his coat, feathered pauldrons, and the broad rough-spun scarf he tied under it out from his tent and pile them together. "You know, I never noticed how many layers he wears…"

Scowling, Fenris did not bother to agree or turn around, instead tending to buckling his armor's straps. As he experimentally flexed his arms as he always did once they were secured, Hawke made a small, appreciative noise, drawing nearer. He froze, half remembering his dream of her squeezing and admiring his muscles, and half afraid she would start stroking the rest of his armor as she'd done with his vambraces. He'd purposefully left those tucked in his pack to avoid temptation for both of them. _Though things could hardly get more distracting after earlier this morning,_ he observed.

Hawke just peered up and over the metal guard at the peak of his chestplate, observing the slightly dried out embrium that was still tucked there. Fenris had been careful to wedge the stem in where the metal met with leather, and it had stayed quite securely put, though its fragrance had waned.

She sniffed, smiling up at him as she drew back. "I'm glad it still has a little scent left at least," Hawke said. "And I'm glad it hasn't gotten lost."

"I will do my best to keep it safe, Hawke," he promised. Then he thought of the afternoon they had found the embrium plant. "But… if something should happen to it, we could always climb the tree and get another before returning to Kirkwall." She smiled privately at that, and as he looked at her curving lips, he thought of his desire to kiss her in some special, meaningful place. _In a sunny, high tree branch…_

"Perhaps we should get another one regardless," he suggested, searching for some practical reason to do so. "You could… give it to your mother."

Hawke cocked her head at him and lightly poked one finger against his metal chestplate. "Aren't you just full of thoughtful ideas this morning?" He shrugged wordlessly, avoiding looking at her curious, bemused expression to scratch behind one pointy ear. She looked over his shoulder again, straightening and turning apprehensive. "Uh oh. We'll see about it once the expedition is over. For now, we'd better get moving. I think I see Bartrand headed this way."

The surly expedition leader came stomping across the cavern, face even redder from the heat than his usual anger could account for. "VARRIC! I know you're in there," he bellowed, heading straight for his brother's small tent. "I sodding told you yesterday I'd come over there and drag you from that tent if I had to! Ancestors below, ya think we're playing around down here? You… feckless layabout! You're not going to like this… not one sodding bit!"

There was a hint of rustling and movement from inside their dwarven companion's tent, and as Hawke and Fenris watched, keeping discreetly out of Bartrand's line of fire, first Bianca and then Varric's head popped out from the rear of it. Just as Bartrand stooped to throw himself headlong through the low, closed flaps out front, Varric stood and quietly straightened his coat, then crept with surprising stealth around front.

"Sod it all, where is that blighter," Bartrand grumbled from inside the tent, angry voice muffled by the canvas. "I would have bet my beard that that nughumper was still in here…" Varric put a finger to his lips, and Anders, Hawke, and Fenris all stood by mutely as he crept off a few paces then walked back loudly up to his tent.

"Were you looking for me, brother?" he asked in a theatrically loud voice, Bianca held easily in his hand as if he just came back from scouting. Hawke flashed him an amused look of warning but he just opened his mouth in a silent cackle and pointed as Bartrand's wide bottom backed furiously out of his tent. By the time his brother straightened, Varric's face was utterly schooled into an expression of pure curiosity, helpfulness, and concern.

"Where in seven sodding blazes have you been?" Bartrand howled, his big hands making fists as he stepped menacingly close to his younger brother. "Didn't ya hear me calling for you, Varric?"

Varric didn't look the least bit phased, however. "Why, I was checking the bottom of the ale barrel, of course. I didn't see myself in there, but hey! You'll be happy to learn I didn't drown." He smiled and shrugged, as if to indicate he too was pleasantly surprised to be found alive.

Bartrand's arms began to quiver and his neck went a sort of dangerous purple color, so Varric held up a placating hand, beguiling smile of utter serenity plastered on his face. "No need to get uglier, brother, I was just kidding. I was over at the hireling's camp, motivating them all out of bed." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and they all looked to the mess tent. Coincidentally, the tables _were_ beginning to swarm with grumpy, sweaty hirelings. "Bianca likes to say good morning to lazy hirelings, don't you, Bianca?" he cooed, petting his crossbow as he so often liked to do.

Anders and Hawke looked back at Varric with raised eyebrows, and Bartrand just gave his brother a hard, beady-eyed stare. Fenris's eyes flicked up in resignation. _It is no wonder I have difficulty beating him at cards. He is a better liar than anyone I have ever seen, and he has the luck of three dwarves combined. _He paused at the last thought, shaking his head. _And now he has me multiplying everything by threes…_

As a still-suspicious Bartrand started in on a litany of things for Varric to look into, check on, and take care of, the rest of them hurriedly made their way to the mess tent to get breakfast. There was a lot of grumbling and dissatisfied faces among the hirelings' tables, most everyone having slept poorly in the sweltering cavern and also still feeling tired from yesterday's very early start and relentless pace to make up for lost time.

"Nothing like piping hot porridge on a ghastly, sweaty morning," Hawke said with feigned cheerfulness. She added a drizzle of honey to her breakfast and vigorously stirred it, trying to bring the temperature down from boiling.

"I can make it cold for you if you'd like, Marian," Anders offered. He placed one hand on his steaming bowl and one on his cup of tea, concentrating for a moment and casting an ice spell to turn his breakfast chilly. Then he gestured for Hawke to slide hers over, which she did with delight after a moment's hesitation.

"Oh, all right, just _don't_ use too much of your mana on it." She watched excitedly as he chilled her porridge and turned her tea slightly icy, leaning in to peer as a sheen of frost blossomed across the contours of the wooden dishes. "That's pretty 'cool,' as Varric would say." Anders snorted, sliding her breakfast back over to her. Fenris just kept his head bent to his meal, perfectly content to simply be eating food, temperature notwithstanding.

"I used to have Bethany freeze our brother's lambchops solid," Hawke said with a chuckle, pressing her cool tumbler of tea to her cheek before taking a sip. "He'd go to cut into them and bend Mother's good silverware all out of shape. Then I would say, 'For someone named Carver, you are terrible at cutting your meat…' It never really got old." Anders guffawed, almost spitting out a mouthful of iced tea.

Fenris's mouth flattened in dissatisfaction as he started in on his second hot bowl of porridge. _Magic… bah. She is entirely too comfortable with it. But I suppose it is hardly surprising, growing up around apostates as she did. She is fortunate that her sister and father were not weak. _He glanced up at Hawke, watching her for a moment. Her eyes slipped closed as she savored a spoonful of cold porridge, and he was struck by how beautiful she could look doing something as ordinary as eating.

_If she had grown up in Tevinter, _he thought, looking back down before she caught him staring, _she would have been as good as a slave to her more powerful family members, would have been made to serve her little sister from the moment her magic manifested, regardless that she was the elder. The magisters may not actually enslave their own kin — usually — but no normal person would ever give up the advantage of having a magister in the family. _

_She would have been expected to serve them even more dutifully than a slave, and her father would have used her as a pawn to gain alliances with other great houses. She would have long ago been wed to another powerful family, bred like fine horseflesh in the hopes of producing scions with even stronger magic in their blood. Regardless of whether her more powerful relatives actually bestowed any wealth or favors upon her or not, she would be utterly at their whims and mercy. But magisters do not have mercy. Not for long._

His thoughts of Hawke in the Imperium disturbed Fenris enough to start disrupting his appetite, so he put the idea aside and focused back on his food. _No, she will never go to the Imperium if I have anything to say about it, _he decided. _She wishes to help me against Danarius, but I am satisfied to await him in Kirkwall. I told her when we first spoke that I would go to him if he did not come back. But why should I, risking capture by some other magister when I know he will eventually come for what he believes is rightfully his? Until he is dead, his pride will not let him rest. That he came to Kirkwall himself is evidence of that. _

_No, he will return, especially if I stay put._

_In the meantime, let him sit around Minrathous waiting, being mocked by the other magisters when he is seen to be still without his leashed elf trailing him after three years of being asked what happened to his precious investment, of posting bounty after bounty for my capture, of boasting that he will soon be dragging me behind his palanquin again. Let him sweat as he wonders if his hired guards can protect him from his numerous rivals without the benefit of lyrium fueling their strength and prowess. Let him sit out the magisters' bloody contests of battling in Seheron because he's too afraid of being cut down, without me there to turn a Qunari blade aside for him. Let Hadriana find some other way to stab him in the back and try to usurp him. _

_They know where I am. They know what I am. Let them come, if they find the courage._

Hawke leaned forward, ducking her head to peer up at Fenris's face as she caught a glimpse of his dangerous expression. "You're looking awfully determined over there, Fenris… And you're being very quiet, even for you," she teased. He glanced up at her and she gave him a sly smile. "What are you thinking about? Are you coming up with ways to beat Varric at Wicked Grace?"

_I told her I could see myself staying for the right reasons, _Fenris thought, considering her, his enticing dreams, their enjoyable morning, and his plans for freeing himself once and for all._ Assuming we ever get out of these wretched tunnels, I do not see why I need leave Kirkwall. Not anytime soon, not when staying could hasten Danarius's demise. _

_I have a place to stay, I can handle the ordinary dangers the city holds, I've been able to avoid the scrutiny of the nobles and the Guard so far, and for once, I have the aid of… allies. Hawke will be there and soon in Hightown, right near my mansion… _

A slow half-smile lifted one corner of his mouth and he flashed her a wicked look. "As I told you earlier, Hawke, there are always many things on my mind."

Anders gave them both a sour, sidelong look, then quickly finished off his breakfast before leaving without a word.

Hawke spared his back a distracted glance, then turned to Fenris again. "Well, I do hope you take Varric on again. I have plenty of coin for a rematch, you know." He frowned and opened his mouth to speak in protest, not wanting her to risk more of her coin on him. But before he could say anything, Hawke added earnestly, "I believe in you. I know you can do it." She gave him her best smile and gently slid the toe of her boot alongside his foot under the table.

Fenris paused, taking in her words, the feel of her furtive, under the table nudge, her encouraging smile, and the ever-open look of tenderness in her eyes. Then he looked away to finish eating, testing out the feel of thinking of Hawke as an ally and wondering if that was what she was to him.

_She is, but… she isn't. She is something… else. More? _He refused to even seriously consider what Varric had mentioned the previous night, reasoning testily, _Yes, she is a girl, but she cannot be a friend. If we were… friends, I would think I'd understand her better, that I would feel less uncomfortable around her. That I would be able to… talk to her more easily. Tell her things… Especially about my past. _

Just the thought of speaking candidly with Hawke about any number of his past experiences left him feeling uncharacteristically panicked. _No, it cannot be that either. To say nothing of how I cannot bring myself to bear her touch. Fasta vass, I cannot make heads or tails of any of this. It is pointless to think about it again._

_He is always so worried about wasting my coin, _Hawke thought with fondness,_ but he'll get Varric. Besides, I just want him to enjoy himself. Maybe I can help… _She considered Fenris's look of uncertainty for a moment, then looked around conspiratorially, making sure Varric was nowhere nearby. She thought she spied him on the far side of the cavern standing in front of Bartrand's tent with his elder brother, and the distant sound of the expedition leader's ongoing rant confirmed it. She leaned over to Fenris again. "You know that earring Varric wears high on his right ear? The smaller one?"

Fenris pushed the last few spoonfuls of his porridge around, brow furrowing as he thought of the one Hawke meant. _That dwarf adorns himself with earrings, rings, that thick strand of beads or whatever that is he wears around his neck…_ He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _ He wears almost as much jewelry as Isabela. So much… jingling._

Until he met Hawke, Fenris himself had never worn any adornment at all before, and he still was rather unused to the feel of the imbued rings, one on each hand, that Hawke pressed him into taking shortly after he started accompanying her. The pendant she had given him he was more accustomed to, since it usually remained hidden under his armor until he went to bathe or go to bed. Then he would finger it and stare at it, tilting and moving the pewter medallion so its cunning etchings would catch the light, and the scene of wolves howling would seem to come to life.

He rather enjoyed peering at the illusion of flowing water, the deceptively detailed trees, the realistic full moon, and watching the green eyes of the lifelike wolves glinting in the firelight. It invariably reminded him of Hawke, too — and so did his rings, lately. Every time he noticed the bands were loose and pushed them back into place, he thought of the way Hawke's fingers slid in between his and fiddled with them. _Given enough time, you do get used to almost anything, _he thought, distractedly twirling the ring on his smallest finger.

Suddenly he realized Hawke was still waiting for a response. _Venhedis. Her distractions are becoming more numerous. I wonder if I will ever get used to __that__._ "Yes, I know the one of which you speak," Fenris finally answered. "Why, what of it?"

"It's his _lucky_ earring," she confided with one eyebrow arched meaningfully.

Fenris sighed, not seeing what that had to do with anything. "There is no such thing, Hawke. I know magical trinkets can enhance many things, but _luck_ is not one of them."

She nodded her head sagely. "I know that and you know that. Yet Varric swears it brings him luck. I just… thought you might be able to use that tidbit of information the next time you play Wicked Grace with him." Hawke gave him a sweet, helpful smile.

_Why is she telling me this? Does she think I am incapable of beating the dwarf on my own merits? _"And what would you have me do?" Fenris growled, eyebrows drawing down deeply. "_Steal_ it?"

Though in the past he had stolen far more times than he cared to count, he had not needed to do so recently, and he had no intention of resuming by pilfering something from an acquaintance and a friend of Hawke's. _I will beat him with skill and tactics… I do not need… luck, _he thought testily.

Hawke laughed, shaking her head and lazily waving a dismissive hand. "No, of course not! Varric's far too savvy for anyone to pull that off." Then she blushed and looked aside, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "And even if you tried using your lyrium talent to lift it… Well… your touch _is_ somewhat… distinctive."

Fenris raised an eyebrow at that. _What does she mean, 'distinctive'? Is that… bad? _He began sifting through his memories of her rather enthusiastic reactions from earlier that morning, but his thoughts were interrupted as Hawke glanced out into the cavern with a slight look of alarm. He followed her gaze and saw that Bartrand had finally ceased berating Varric, and their dwarven companion was fast approaching.

"All I am saying is, when he's playing and gets down on his luck, maybe he has a tell?" she whispered in a rush. "Maybe he, I don't know, tugs on his lucky earring or brushes it or something?" She gave a resigned shrug as Varric stopped by the table to drop off Bianca.

"You know, if Bartrand did half of this shit himself instead of just telling other people to do it, it would all be done already," the dwarf groused. His face screwed up into an imitation of his brother as he pitched his voice just like Bartrand's. "Varric! Go yell at yourself for me, I don't have time to do it! I'm too busy telling you to do it!" He wandered away to get his breakfast, muttering to himself.

Hawke gave his back a sympathetic look before she turned back to Fenris. "Well? What about it? Will you take him on again tonight? He'll probably be in fine spirits for you to rile him up, if his current mood persists."

Fenris considered it, never above using his opponents already rattled state to further unsettle them. His armor, his use of large, menacing weapons, his appearance and his demeanor were all meant to unnerve, and he felt confident he could find some tactic to accomplish something similar while playing Wicked Grace with Varric.

"If he feels up to the challenge," Fenris said slowly, "I suppose I am… game."

Hawke chuckled at his pun. "We'll see about setting it up after dinner again, tonight. Assuming nothing disastr… no, no, I am not going to even say it. No need to tempt fate, Marian…"

Fenris watched Hawke as she began stacking the dishes on the tray. _I do not recall seeing the dwarf tugging at his earrings at all last night… _he thought, finishing off the last of his now-cool porridge. _But I did keep getting distracted by her and that insufferable mage. I could have perhaps missed it, I suppose. _He placed his empty bowl on the tray and carefully wiped off his face just as Varric returned.

Their usually cheery dwarven companion sat down heavily, digging straight in to his breakfast, face wrinkled with a disgruntled expression.

"Any idea if yesterday got us back on schedule?" Hawke asked him, hoping to prod Varric into a better mood.

He shrugged. "Who knows. Those Carta scouts like to play things close to the vest, but all the rumors and stories agree, it's a week down from the surface." He scratched at his ear, and Fenris's sharp eyes caught the gesture immediately. "With luck, whoever told spread those rumors wasn't half the storyteller I am. I don't know if it'd be worth it to travel _three_ weeks just to get there…"

_It may have just been a coincidence, _Fenris thought, replaying Varric's fleeting gesture in his mind. _He did seem to touch the top of his ear though. Hmm. Still, I suppose it could not hurt to watch for it, when next we play._

Hawke patted Varric on the back. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine. It can't get much worse, right?" She waved a hand around to take in the steamy cavern, then fanned herself while smiling reassuringly.

"Don't say that, Hawke." Varric slumped forward, the hand holding his spoon going suddenly limp, almost flinging a blob of porridge up over the lip of his bowl. "Maker, I hate it when you say that. Nothing good ever happens when you say that…"

_Not this again… _She rolled her eyes, mouth flattening. "Everyone acts like I cause these completely random, catastrophic things to occur. But I don't do anything! I cannot help it if I am just there, then things happen!" Hawke looked to Fenris beseechingly, but he just shrugged, rather agreeing with Varric. She frowned, looking between the two of them and tsking at them both.

_Varric's the one that persuaded me to come down here in the first place, _she thought irritatedly, feeling rather defensive._ And half the strange things we've been involved in were the products of rumors he brought to me!_ _I don't go looking for trouble — it finds me! It always has. _

_And as for Fenris… well, shouldn't he be on my side, after everything? It isn't fair. _Hawke frowned at him, but he just stared back at her, expression neutral as ever. _I should do something 'reckless' just to put another look on his face. Then he'll learn what it looks like when I mean for something to happen… _

She was feeling both rather stimulated and unfulfilled from her early morning massage from him, and she knew her frustrations were at least partially his fault. _Cruel man. I cannot take much more teasing from him. He should have a care with me for a change, lest he find himself… I don't know, utterly ravaged or something._ _And what about this morning? I didn't start that; he did. Again, I was just there! _

_So why should he side with Varric in this? Is this because they're getting chummy, he thinks he has to side with his card partner? Hmph. Is Varric's chest more persuasive than mine? I don't think so! Perhaps I should remind him later… or perhaps I shouldn't! Maybe I should give him some time to think about what he's missing out on, since he's so fond of thinking. Maker… men!_

"Andraste's unlucky left nostril," she swore under her breath, gathering up the tray of dirty dishes. "I almost hope we do run into lots of dangerous things today. I suddenly feel like doing a lot of _stabbing_." She gave them both another cross look before storming away to the mess tent.

"Heh. Women," Varric grumped, shaking his head.

_I truly do not understand her._ "Women," Fenris agreed, utterly confused as to Hawke's swift change in mood. His dwarven tablemate cackled amiably, smiling for the first time since narrowly escaping his tent that morning.

While Varric finished his breakfast, Fenris remained at the table in a companionable silence, deciding to wait for the dwarf to head back to their camp so he would not have to face Hawke's sudden ire alone. He did watch her, however, noting with an angry throb of jealousy that she headed straight to Anders to help the mage strike his tent and pack it away.

_Well, at least I should be able to take out my frustrations in battle, _Fenris figured, by now more than familiar with Hawke's tendency to both run afoul of danger and get what she wanted. _We are bound to run into something today, now. I will just have to watch out for her daggers. And her distractions. And I need to think of some way to avoid being distracted by her and that mage if Varric and I play cards again tonight._

Once he and Varric went back to their respective tents, Fenris silently helped a grumpy Hawke pack the tent away. Focusing on planning and strategizing for later that evening, he gave her the quiet she seemed to desire rather than risk antagonizing her further by saying the wrong thing. She remained in a sullen silence herself, stalking off to go help Bodahn and Sandal carry things to their cart when he turned to place the rolled up tent into the back of the other wagon.

Fenris was a little taken back at her disappearance, disappointed that she didn't stay to help with his vambraces again. But he soon let it go, for the carts were beginning to swarm with hirelings and he wished neither an audience, nor to put on a display if his markings flared again. He did not even bother to puzzle out her behavior, knowing well enough how dark moods sometimes arose out of seemingly nowhere.

Fortunately, Hawke and the rest of the irritated expedition crew all seemed to improve in mood when they finally struck camp. Despite Bartrand setting an aggressive pace again due to everyone's tardiness, no one was sorry to put the hot, stuffy cavern well behind them. With an air of grim, if not exactly enthusiastic determination, they once more headed out to travel the Deep Roads for yet another long, sunless day.

* * *

_4 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Evening_

"So, what was the final count, Varric?" Hawke asked, playfully nudging the dwarf in the arm as she sat down to dinner that night. "Who was the _victor_ of the day?" She leveled Fenris with a smug look as she set his bowls of stew and his stack of flatbread out for him.

Varric sighed. "Fourteen spiders for you, ten for the elf, eight for me, and I dunno, maybe six for Blondie? It's hard to keep count when he turns them all into ashes."

"Hey!" Anders said defensively, brow furrowing. "I counted at least twice that many."

"I told you before, Blondie," Varric explained, clearly trying to be patient though his tone frayed around the edges a bit. "Collateral damage doesn't count. If your fireball happens finish some off when someone else already has engaged them and has worn 'em down, it still counts for them. Otherwise it's called kill-stealing, and it's what rank amateurs do."

"It _should_ count!" Anders cried. "If I _literally_ killed it…"

"It _doesn't_ count," Varric retorted, cutting him off with an air of finality.

Anders huffed. "Don't I get any credit for healing, then? Can't each heal count as a kill, or half a kill or something? It hardly seems fair that I lose out on kills to keep you all alive."

Varric sighed heavily, shaking his head and turning his attention to tearing his flatbread up into small pieces rather than trying to argue the subject again with the mage.

"But we do all agree," Hawke chimed in, with a broad, self-satisfied smile, "I had far and away the most kills." She looked triumphantly between Anders and Varric as they both gave wordless grunts of unenthusiastic agreement.

Fenris just flicked his eyes upward, wondering why any of it mattered — though he was a little frustrated that Hawke had gotten to engage more spiders than he had. _I could have used more battle. I still feel entirely too… agitated. Yet it was all any of us could do trying to keep up with that woman today. She was in rare form, despite her protestations of wanting to sleep more when I woke her. Hmph. Well… perhaps giving Varric a drubbing at Wicked Grace will help me focus myself._

Everyone ate in silence for a few minutes, though Hawke hummed happily and quietly herself as she spooned up her stew. Fenris found himself glancing at her every few moments, for she kept shifting and fidgeting where she sat across the table from him, apparently unable to keep still. He found not only her humming and her movements a distraction, but also her jovial, distant expression.

Anders seemed to notice it too, for eventually he commented, "Marian, you seem in a rather fine mood this evening."

Hawke picked up her tumbler of water, saluting him with it. "Yes, I suppose I am," she admitted, smiling. "We had a good, productive day, this cavern is just the right temperature for a change, and, I dunno… I just feel… energetic."

_Mmm, that massage this morning has my whole upper body feeling better than it has in ages. Even after this ridiculously long day and getting covered in spider goo, now I'm clean and comfortable and looking forward to whatever Fenris might have in store for me tonight. _

She paused in lifting her cup to her lips, glancing over at him above the lip of it. _If I asked, might he massage my front, a wee bit? He did tell me to show him where it hurt this morning, and I suddenly feel a stitch in my side… oh, definitely a stitch. _She could almost imagine what it would feel like to have his hands on her bare waist and stomach, and the idea of it made her mouth go dry.

Hawke's distant look turned into a distant smirk and she wriggled a little before taking a long, thirsty drink. Fenris could feel Anders shifting on the bench beside him at the same time he himself shifted. Varric also gave his benchmate a sidelong look, then shot Fenris a glance with eyebrows upraised before turning back to his bowl of stew.

Fenris blinked a few times in confusion, wondering why the dwarf should look to him and what the expression on his face meant. _Does he mean for me to tell her to stop shaking the bench for him? Does he want me to ask her why she is so… fidgety? _he pondered._ I do not understand any of this. Not Hawke, not Varric, and least of all my part in all of this._

Anders cleared his throat. "Shall we play cards again tonight?" he asked of Hawke, not really including Varric or Fenris in on the question.

Hawke, however, looked between their other companions expectantly. "Yes, are you two planning on having your Wicked Grace rematch? I left the cards in my pack, but I can go get them." _I know he can beat Varric, but even if he doesn't, I'm sure I can find some way to cheer him up tonight. All I need do is remind him of the promise I made. He seemed… intrigued by that, if I recall. _

Varric shrugged without looking up. "I dunno, elf. I'm up for it, but… I'll understand if you have something else you'd rather be doing." He pointedly did not look at Fenris, nor Hawke as her smile went a bit distant and predatory and she excitedly danced a little in her seat again.

"I think you should," she urged, smiling and nodding at Fenris as her attention stopped wandering. "I think you can beat him, and I would love to watch."

_Mmm, I love watching him play Wicked Grace… the way his hands move, that intense look he gets on his face, the terribly dry, witty things he says that invariably make me laugh. _She thought of how much she had enjoyed playing at his mansion, in his bed. Her thoughts once more became rather amorous as she recalled how the bed had been every bit as comfortable and cozy as she had suspected from her first visit to his mansion, and the only mystery that was left was what it would be like to share it with him.

_Maker, maybe I shouldn't encourage them to play cards after all. Maybe I should have asked Fenris if he wanted to practice playing in our tent. _She rubbed at her neck, her hand trailing absentmindedly down her chest and tugging on her necklace just thinking about all the flirty, grabby fun they could have alone together, though she knew full well it would hardly prepare Fenris for challenging Varric again.

Though he had been thinking up tactics, barbs and misdirections to use on Varric all day, Fenris was not sure he wanted to attempt playing against the crafty dwarf while Hawke was being so distracting.

"Do you think you actually would be able to sit _still_ for it?" he droned, both frustrated with her and frustrated with himself for being unable to deal with her never-ending diversions. "You are acting very… unprofessional, Hawke." _She may not realize it herself, but everyone at the table is staring, and so are the hirelings. She seemed very concerned about appearing professional the other day. What has gotten into her since then?_

Hawke froze, halting her fidgeting. _Really, need he use that tone of voice with me? What does he mean, sit still? I am! And unprofe… no. No, surely I misheard. _She looked at Fenris and he stared flatly back at her, looking stern. She rested her hand back against the tabletop, fingers beginning to drum quietly. His eyes snapped to the motion then flicked up in consternation before holding hers again, so she stilled herself utterly.

Her face went dark, the bright, cheerful gleam in her eyes going rather flinty. _Apparently I did not mishear. Well. Perhaps I was fidgeting a little, but that was only because I __**was**__ in a fine mood. He fidgets all the time, and I never say anything. Especially not in front of anyone else. __**That**__ would be unprofessional. And what brought all this on? What did I do to deserve his decidedly less-than-fine-mood? _

Getting over the initial daze of his criticisms, her heart began to ache like he'd reached into her chest and raked at it. "I see," was all she could say, though she managed to say it rather coolly.

Anders and Varric both coughed and cleared their throats, turning away to discreetly resume a conversation they'd been having earlier about which would be worse, being a dwarf in the Grey Wardens or a human in the Carta.

Hawke just ignored them, feeling suddenly upset, embarrassed, and even more upset that she had been made to feel embarrassed. _And by Fenris, of all people. Maker, and here I thought… But no, I suppose I do not understand him after all. _Her confusion only fed into her insecurities, which only served to make her feel even worse.

Fenris went back to eating, not really sure what had just happened, but eager to take advantage of Hawke's relative stillness and quiet to finish his meal in peace. _I used to be able to concentrate. I used to be able to focus, I used to have quiet. I knew my own mind, did not care what went on around me so long as there was no threat, knew what dangers to look for. But I do not understand her, or this. Any of this. Must I get used to this? How can I when…  
_

His thoughts were interrupted yet again by her as she stood and left the table, her dinner half-eaten. Everyone glanced at her as she went, even Fenris, and almost the entire expedition crew followed her with their eyes as she stalked across the massive cavern they'd camped in for the night.

"Shit," Varric swore. "Twice in one day? _That's_ no good." Anders shot Fenris a dark look but said nothing, while the dwarf just rubbed absentmindedly at his forehead. "Say, Blondie. How, uh… how long ago was it, the last time we played Wicked Grace with Hawke? You remember…" His eyes darted to Fenris, then he crossed his arms in front of his chest and slumped down on the bench theatrically, inclining his head in the direction Hawke had walked.

Anders gave Varric a quizzical look before it dawned on him what he might be referring to. "Ah… yes," he said slowly. "I do recall the night you mean, now. The last time she was in such a… fine mood." Varric nodded sagely. Anders's expression changed to one of distant seriousness, the look he often got on his face when healing or tending one of his patients. "No, we should be safe for at least another week and a half, if memory serves. Something else must have set her off." Both pairs of their eyes shifted to Fenris.

After shooting a sidelong glance at them and gleaning no information whatsoever about what they were referring to, Fenris gave up utterly on trying to understand anything for the day. Instead, he decided to be content with the simple pleasures of dipping flatbread into stew, which was something he _could_ understand. _Dwarves… mages… women. Bah._

Hawke returned after a few minutes, dropping her Wicked Grace deck and a single sovereign onto the middle of the table. She sat back down on the bench heavily and resumed eating in silence while the coin gyrated on the tabletop, twirling faster and faster before it settled down flat with a noisy clatter. Anders and Varric didn't say a word, soon following Hawke and Fenris's lead and eating the remainder of the meal in complete silence.

It didn't take long for Hawke to finish eating since she was not constantly pausing to make conversation or laugh, nor flirting with Fenris. She soon put her dishes aside and drained her tumbler of water, before sitting straight, still, and prim on the bench. When she spoke, she knew she looked the picture of cool professionalism — her hands were even folded demurely in her lap.

"Well, I think I will go find something to occupy myself for the evening, then. I trust you two _gentlemen_ will have a good game." As Fenris peered over at her through a few errant locks of hair that hung in his eyes, Hawke lifted her chin a little, adding, "No doubt you'll find it much easier to think without me here distracting you."

She had put two and two together while she walked to her tent and back. _That's what he said last night, wasn't it? He just kept getting distracted? And I suppose he thinks my wanting to be here to cheer him on will make him lose? I taught him this stupid game, and it's my coin up for wager… Does he think I made him lose yesterday, too? Is that why he sent me to bed alone? Of all the… Hmph, well, I won't be blamed again. It'll be his loss tonight, not mine. Men!_

"Probably," he responded cautiously. _At least she understands, even if she seems dissatisfied about not being able to watch._ Then, it became rather obvious to Fenris that it had been the entirely wrong thing to say.

_So I was right. _"Oh, well, I see," Hawke said in a rather clipped tone, staring over at him for a moment before rising gracefully from the table. "I will go have some tea to _calm_ myself while _I_ think. About what to do with my evening. I shall also go ahead and say goodnight." She inclined her head to her assembled companions before tossing her hair and sweeping away from the table towards her tent.

Varric waited until she was out of earshot before giving a low whistle. "Maker, am I glad Bianca never throws fits like that. Sure, sometimes she gets jammed, but that's just her way of saying she wants a little attention." He let the hint hang in the air for a heartbeat before turning to his crossbow. "Isn't it, Bianca?" Then he leaned down to stroke it, murmuring unintelligibly.

Anders watched her go, then blinked at Fenris in disbelief for a few moments. Eventually unable to contain himself, he asked, "Aren't you going to go after her?"

Fenris stacked his dishes up in front of himself, not bothering to look at the apostate. "To what end? Clearly she feels she is not good company at the moment and wishes to be alone." It made perfect sense to him, for he often withdrew when he sensed he was making people uncomfortable with his presence.

_Why should I go after her? She said she needed to calm herself, and she has seemed agitated all day. But… she also said goodnight, so perhaps she is tired and wishes to go to bed early. _Though both scenarios made sense, he could see the contradiction between them and it gave him an uneasy feeling that there was something more that he wasn't seeing.

_Well, whatever has gotten into her, I hope she has it sorted out before I come to bed. I get little enough rest these nights with her distracting me in my dreams. I hardly need her laying on her bedroll beside me… wriggling all night. _Just the thought made his mouth go dry, and he knew any attempt he might make at talking to Hawke about her mood would invariably only leave him more confused and probably more frustrated. _Perhaps I should wait for her to fall asleep again. It would be far easier than talking._

Anders continued to stare, expression going from incredulity to anger to very blank. Eventually he looked away in silence, apparently deciding it was in his best interest to remain out of it.

"So," Varric said, putting his dishes aside and dusting his hands off, "I guess we're doing this then, elf?"

Fenris inclined his head curtly, dropping his pile of dirty dishes onto the tray in front of Hawke's empty seat with a clatter. He wiped his hands on his leggings, putting all thoughts of her aside and settling into a focused frame of mind, though he was aware that Anders was sitting next to him still, still lurking while deep in thought. _Venhedis… When will this mage leave the table? Yet another reason I look forward to returning to my mansion. No unwelcome guests._

Anders did finally stand, however, going around the table to set his own dishes on the tray just as Sandal came up to remove it and return the pile to Bodahn.

"Oooh, fluffy!" the simple dwarf said, craning his neck to stare up at the tall mage before he left again.

"Fluffy?" Anders looked down at himself. "What… what is that even supposed to mean?" he grumbled before he stalked away, feathered pauldrons looking a bit puffed up.

The rest of the tables had nearly emptied too, most of the hirelings already having returned to their camp in the farthest corner of the massive cavern behind a wall of stalagmites. Many of them still harbored fears of darkspawn, and now, too, giant spiders, after the ambushes of the past two days. So Varric had suggested to Bartrand to allow them to set camp where they felt safest, and had nudged Hawke's group to camp near the mouth of the cavern to act as a sort of guard station at the chokepoint into the area. It was all more for peace of mind than anything, for Anders had felt no nearby darkspawn presence and the spiders seemed to prefer lurking in darker, closer spaces than the one they hunkered down in for the night.

Varric and Fenris once again slid to the centers of their opposite benches. Varric, looking nonchalant and cheerful as ever, slid a gold sovereign over by Hawke's before he unbound the deck of cards. Fenris watched him closely, face already implacable, keen eyes boring into the unconcerned dwarf as Varric fanned out the cards face-up across the table for inspection.

"I'm feeling kind of beat tonight, elf, and we both know how the other plays, now," he said as his eyes cursorily scanned the cards. "Maybe instead of thirty-three hands, we make it a quick seventeen? I'm sure you've got better things to do than lose to me all night."

While he listened, Fenris stared at each card closely, intent on thwarting any trickery the dwarf might already be trying to pull. But though he looked for missing or marked cards, he found nothing of note. He gathered up the cards himself, purposefully claiming the first deal as he fixed Varric with a hard look.

"We can play as few or as many hands as you wish, but the outcome will be the same, dwarf. Tonight, I will best you. I will be the victor."

Varric smiled, chuckling with amiable good grace. "You've got confidence, I'll give you that. It's more than most people who play against me have." Then he tapped the two gold sovereigns.

"But hey, do I seem worried to you? I'm not even playing with my own coin tonight. Even if I lose, it just means I break even." He produced mug after mug of ale from somewhere under the table, lining six up in front of himself before quaffing half of one of them contentedly.

Fenris's eyes narrowed. _He is trying to goad me already, reminding me Hawke is footing my wagers. And he drinks down his ale, as if to say playing me sober is not even necessary. Hmm, well… Little does he know that I barely got started last night before other things distracted me from concentrating fully on our game. This would have gone badly enough for him tonight, but he is going to make it that much worse for himself. And I have no qualms about exploiting his mistakes — in fact, I will enjoy it. _

He gave the dwarf a predatory smile as he shuffled the cards, holding Varric's gaze to distract him as he kept his thumb discreetly on the angel of death. "Good _luck_ all the same, and may the best elf win." As he mentioned the word 'luck,' Fenris kept a close eye on the dwarf's small earring, hoping to gauge the usefulness of Hawke's advice.

Laughing heartily, Varric saluted him with his ale, not making any discernible gesture regarding his lucky earring. "Whatever you say, elf. Either way, I get a few hands of cards in and a break from my brother. Taking Hawke's money from you is just gravy." After he drained his first mug, he pulled out his pencil and another piece of paper to make up the scorecard.

Fenris let his face go blank again as he dealt, though he was rather proud of how efficiently and neatly he handled the playing cards now. He also deftly ensured that the angel of death wound up in his pile, giving him all the leverage he would probably need to win their first hand. _Best out of seventeen means I need only win nine hands and he will be unable to recover. _The fire of competitiveness in him blazed, and he felt a surge of confidence that he would emerge victorious.

They played the first five hands in complete silence, Fenris indeed winning the first one, and all the rest, too, save the last.

"Oh ho, looks like the broody elf is infallible after all," Varric tutted, gathering up his full house and Fenris's three of a kind once he finally won a hand. "You're slipping already, elf, and now I'm coming for you!" He didn't even bother to look at Fenris, merely smiling distantly to himself and focusing on shuffling.

"Yes, you need only do that four more times in a row to take the lead," Fenris droned. "And then win another four in a row after that to win. You will forgive me if I seem unconcerned." Though in truth he closely watched the dwarf's small, quick hands for any sign of cheating, he pretended to sit languidly, with his face propped on one hand, fingers curled against his lips.

They both glanced to the far corner of the cavern as strains of a tune started echoing over the wall of stalagmites from the hirelings' camp.

"Hmph, guess the hirelings are in a good mood again," Varric grumped. "You wouldn't believe the bitching that was going on in their camp this morning. Between Bartrand's wake up calls and him marching us like Andraste herself is behind us with an exalted horde of bloodthirsty barbarians, there was some serious talk of dwarf-tossing." He quickly dealt the cards and the beginnings of a grimace appeared on his face as peeked at his hand. "And who does he send to unpiss them off? Why, me, of course! Who else?"

Fenris sorted through his cards, noticing that he'd been dealt two pair, songs and daggers, which wasn't a terrible hand to start with, but also wasn't very strong. He had also been dealt the angel of death, which surprised him, as he had assumed Varric would try to swipe it since it was his deal.

_Should I go ahead and end the game right here, or does Varric have something stronger in his hand? _He stared across the table, trying to read the expression on Varric's face. _His grimace could be for an unlucky hand, or it could simply be for his brother. How can I distinguish which it is?_

He thought for a moment, tempted to goad the dwarf about his brother. Yet he found he did not really wish to take side with Bartrand, even to prod Varric a little. "Hmm… It sounds as though your brother takes advantage of you even more than others who work for him," he finally said, watching for Varric's reaction.

"Tell me about it," the dwarf chuckled, a quick smile lifting his lips. Then he turned his focus back to his cards and grimaced again.

Fenris felt one corner of his own mouth draw up into a satisfied, knowing smile. _So, he is used to his brother treating him poorly, and it is his hand that truly makes him unhappy. Very well — I will chance ending this right here._

"I was dealt the angel of death," he stated with feigned hesitation as he drew a card, which he had to do before discarding. It did not really help him, however. Fenris discarded the angel of death and lay down his marginal hand. "I fear your luck may indeed have turned."

Varric paused, looking in confusion at Fenris's cards. "Heh, I can't believe you'd admit being dealt the angel of death with a crap hand like _that_, elf."

"I was dealt it, so I played it. That is the rule, is it not?" Fenris kept his face neutral, waiting patiently for Varric to lay his cards down.

"It is, but… who the hell plays by the rules?" Varric pursed his lips unhappily for a moment before chuckling and setting his cards down. He had a pair of angels, but nothing else. "Eh, I guess even in Wicked Grace, honesty pays off every once in a while." He took a hearty swig of ale, thunking the mug back down after a moment. "Mores the pity for me, since I always lie about everything."

"Wouldn't… that be impossible?" Fenris asked, pointing out the contradiction. "For it would mean your statement about always lying would be true — which would mean you actually _didn't_ always lie about everything?"

"Maker… No logic riddles, elf," Varric pleaded, sighing heavily. "You're worse than talking to that talkative guy at The Hanged Man, and I'm nowhere near drunk enough for _that,_ yet…" He rubbed at his forehead for a few moments before finishing off his mug of ale in one long chug.

Fenris made no reply except to gather up the cards and deal. _Four more hands, and I will have this won,_ he thought with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Then, three more hands later, Fenris had already won another two to Varric's one.

"I'd better step up my game," the dwarf mumbled as he updated the scorecard and saw Fenris's substantial lead. "Two more wins for you, and I'm screwed." He gathered up his next hand of cards, sorting through them rather seriously.

Rearranging his own cards silently, Fenris merely waited to see what the dwarf would try next. _Undoubtedly he will bring up some uncomfortable topic or other soon, trying to rattle me… _He attempted to steel himself against the eventuality, staying as focused as possible.

Sure enough, Varric took his turn in silence, then spoke as soon as Fenris started to move his hand towards the draw pile. "So, any idea what's going on with your woman today? It's been a while since I saw Hawke in a mood like that."

Fenris's hand fumbled with the cards, sliding a few across the tabletop. He had been hoping to swipe two cards and perhaps seize yet another win, but he had not been expecting Varric's comment.

_What does he mean by calling Hawke 'my woman'? Venhedis! Fasta vass! I might have been able to use that extra card to win the last hand… _His hand curled into a fist and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to put Hawke out of his mind and regain his concentration.

The dwarf's hairy, exposed chest shook in a silent chuckle as he extended one finger to slide a single card, the one that had been on top of the draw pile, over to Fenris. Then he gathered up and restacked the other cards neatly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have pried," he said unapologetically. "It's probably none of my business."

Fenris snatched the lone card up, gratified when he saw it that it was at least useful. "Hawke is her own woman," he grumbled. "If you wish to know her mind, I suggest you speak to her." He discarded a weaker suit, turning a hard glare on Varric.

Unconcerned as usual, the dwarf just shrugged and picked up the card Fenris had discarded. Fenris inwardly cursed at making another mistake, though he did not let his dismay show on his face.

"No need to get broody on me, elf," Varric said placatingly. "Every man has trouble with his lady every now and then. Even Bianca…" His advice was cut off by a warning growl from across the table.

"Hawke is not a _weapon_, nor is she my or anyone else's '_lady_,' dwarf." One of Varric's eyebrows crept up, and Fenris's expression and tone both went dark as he added, "She is… Hawke. Is that not _enough_?"

_It is more than enough. More than I understand, more than I can handle, more than I care to think about right now. _Fenris looked away to stare down angrily at his cards. _I do not know what Hawke is to me, so I hardly wish to discuss it with Varric._

"Geez, all right, I get it. Touchy subject," Varric muttered under his breath, finally discarding and ending his turn. "Guess I got the wrong impression about you two. My mistake…"

_His mistake indeed. _Though he did not respond to Varric's apology, Fenris felt a small surge of triumph as he picked up the card Varric had discarded, adding it to his hand and turning a strong four of a kind knights into an almost unbeatable five of a kind knights. He chucked away a song suited card and waited out the end of the hand in silence, winning just as he had expected.

"One more hand and the game is yours, elf," Varric grumped, adding another tick under Fenris's column on the score sheet. "Since it seems you don't have any, uh… pressing business to look into… we could go ahead and play thirty-three hands after all. What do you say?"

Staring flatly across the table with narrowed eyes, Fenris took in the hopeful expression on Varric's face. "You would like that, wouldn't you, dwarf?" he replied, mocking what Varric had said to him the night before, just prior to the start of their first game of Wicked Grace.

_I think I would rather take my victory and leave off on any more conversations of Hawke for the night,_ Fenris thought pragmatically, already feeling his concentration slipping. '_My woman'? I may not understand this thing between us, but Hawke certainly does not… belong to me. _Just the thought of anyone thinking he claimed any kind of ownership over Hawke made Fenris deeply uncomfortable, so he put it out of his mind utterly.

Varric sighed, shuffling and dealing a new hand. "Fine. I guess it's my own fault for suggesting a short game tonight, anyway. Not that I wouldn't have a lot of catching up to do, but… I could pull it off. Easy as pie."

Fenris gave a short, mirthless chuckle at Varric's dejected tone and lackluster boasting. He swept a gesture along the row of ale mugs, observing dryly, "At least you will be able to drown your sorrows after I win this last hand."

Varric shot him a suffering look before he picked up and fanned out his cards in his hand. Fenris watched his reaction carefully, trying to gauge what the dwarf had dealt himself and hoping to glean some information about what he was up against before he took his turn. Varric's face broke out into a broad smile, and Fenris's hopes of clinching victory with the current hand soured a little.

"Well, well. Looks like I might be down but not quite out yet, elf." He slid his cards back together and tapped them against the wooden tabletop. "Go ahead, take your turn."

Mind working methodically, Fenris tried to determine what kind of hand Varric might have gotten that would please him so. He himself held an angel, two daggers, a song, and a serpent — a terrible hand if he was forced into playing it too soon. Keeping his face completely blank, he considered Varric again.

_The dwarf undoubtedly dealt himself the angel of death this time, _he assumed,_ so I am likely fighting an uphill battle. He will use it the moment he senses weakness on my part. I may be able to use that to my advantage, but… I will have to be careful._

"What do you have?" he asked suspiciously, watching Varric, the consummate liar, closely for any signs of deception.

"Let's just say either the angel of truth or the angel of death would make me happy. Why? You feeling generous?" the dwarf asked with a chuckle. "Don't you worry about me, elf, I'll win this no matter what."

Fenris could not see any hint of lying on Varric's face, but didn't acknowledge that he held the angel of truth in his hand. Instead he drew, pulling a dagger and deciding to keep it. He discarded the worthless serpent. _Three of a kind daggers… better, but hardly superior. And I should avoid discarding this angel. Varric may not be lying about it. He probably does not have four angels, but he may have lucked into three…_

Varric ignored the serpent card, not wanting it either. He still looked smug, though Fenris noticed he scratched at his earring before he drew. Chuckling at the card he received, Varric remarked, "Hmm, doesn't really help me, but… I hardly need the help."

He placed a dagger down, and Fenris kept himself from looking pleased at the developments.

_That dagger will give me four of a kind. Not a strong one, but… if Hawke was correct about his lucky earring…_ He decided to trust her intuition. _He claims to have a strong hand, yet he is hoping to get lucky when drawing a card? Doubtful he has four of a kind anything, then, particularly angels. And I am positive he has the angel of death already._

Trusting Hawke's instincts and his own, Fenris pretended to hesitate before taking the dagger when it was his turn, discarding the song of courage. Then, wanting to trick Varric into ending the game, knowing he himself had the upper hand, he made a show of shaking his head in resignation. He even obligingly found some pretense to look away when Varric drew, pretending to angrily drain his tumbler of water so the dwarf could easily feign coincidentally drawing the angel of death.

Sure enough, Varric declared, "And that's the hand already, I'm afraid, elf," snapping the angel of death down on the discard pile. Fenris watched as he turned over three serpents and two angels. It was a modestly strong hand, and lucky, too, getting a full house for so early in the game, but nevertheless Fenris knew Varric would not have played it in all likelihood if he had not given him the perfect opportunity to cheat.

"Let me guess," the dwarf said, a knowing look on his face. "You've got one angel and three daggers and were hoping to get four, or at least make a full house better than this one."

Sighing and nodding, Fenris turned over his three daggers and the angel of truth. Varric began to cackle — then Fenris turned over his other dagger, and the dwarf's laughter turned into a swear.

"Shit. I thought you maybe started with one dagger, but not two." He frowned over at Fenris. "I should have taken that serpent you discarded and ended the game right there. But, Maker, your face… it's so damn unreadable."

"You were very convincing that you had at least three of a kind angels," Fenris admitted with a gracious nod.

Varric grumbled, gathering the cards up and tying Hawke's ribbon around the deck. "Well, at least you stopped hiding cards in your damn armor all night."

Fenris gritted his teeth as he realized Varric must have noticed his efforts at cheating the night before, suddenly glad that he had decided to forego deception in favor of strategy tonight since Hawke and Anders weren't around to distract Varric, too, from time to time.

_It is a very interesting game. Enjoyable. With many different strategies,_ he observed. _Hawke plays very different from Varric. Yet I have still bested both of them._ Smiling cockily to himself, he found he looked forward to telling her about his victory — and using his new tactics on her the next time they played. _Using honesty in a game of deception — I like the irony. She and I should play again. If she is not asleep, perhaps we could even play tonight…_

Varric slid the bound deck and the two gold coins across the table. "Another fine game, elf. Though I'm sure if we'd played a full round I would have eventually overtaken you." He saluted him with a mug of ale and a smug smile, then began to slowly drink it down.

Fenris just shook his head, rolling his eyes a little at Varric's insistence that he could have won. "We can play again whenever you wish, dwarf. I will happily accept your coin to prove you wrong." Varric paused in drinking to laugh, shaking his own head. "But next time, I will use my own." Fenris picked up the two, weighty sovereigns in one lyrium-lined hand and closed them in a loose fist.

_I am the victor. And I can return Hawke's coin. She gave it freely, and now I can freely return it to her. _It felt right to him that he could reciprocate her gesture, and he could feel a palpable difference in doing it out of a desire to give something rather than a desire to owe her less.

_Perhaps I am already understanding her better, _he thought hopefully._ And undoubtedly she will be pleased to know her advice about Varric's earring helped solidify my victory. She will be proud that her belief in me was not misplaced. _A slow smile curved Fenris's lips as he looked at his loosely closed hand and found that he was actually rather proud of himself, too. Suddenly looking forward to retiring to the tent with Hawke, he was also glad he had wrapped up the card game early.

"We'll have to try Diamondback sometime," Varric said, scratching at his chin as he set down his ale mug.

"I… do not know how to play," Fenris replied distractedly, holding off on his thoughts of Hawke before looking over at the dwarf. "Hawke told me she was not good enough at it to teach it to me."

Varric held up a hand. "Already, you can't be any worse than Blondie. Or harder to teach than Daisy." Fenris just lifted an eyebrow, hardly thrilled about being compared to either the apostate abomination or the Dalish blood mage, favorably or no. "Maybe some other night I'll sit down and show you the basics, elf." He gave Fenris a knowing smirk. "But I'm sure you want to go find Hawke. Tell her the good news."

Fenris quietly sighed in resignation. _I must remember to keep my card-playing face on around this dwarf. The way he pesters me about her… Still, I should not be surprised. He seems intent on chronicling her every step._ "Some other night, then," he said tiredly but politely, glad he did not need to make any excuses to escape further scrutiny. "I will look forward to it." He gathered up Hawke's deck of cards and stood, inclining his head in respect. "Goodnight, Varric. You are a worthy opponent."

Varric snorted, a mug already halfway raised to his lips. "Yeah, yeah, same to you. 'Night, elf." As Fenris began to walk away, he added, "And tell Hawke I said goodnight, and to cheer up. Or… I dunno, cheer her up yourself." He cackled over his ale mug when Fenris's steps halted for a moment.

_Nosy dwarf… _Fenris thought wearily, stalking away.

As he headed in the direction of the cavern entrance, where their group's tents were located, Fenris noted that the noise from the hirelings' camp was still going strong. It made him glad that his own tent was on the far side of the cavern from them, in case their cheerful unwinding went on much longer into the night. He left the mess tent and the din of music behind and drew closer to their group's own quiet camp, satisfied to see that Anders wasn't lurking on any of the benches around their camp's small fire. He did not see Hawke on any of the benches either, however, and the lonely campfire burned fitfully with no one there to tend it.

_Hawke must have indeed gone to bed already,_ Fenris thought with a small pang of disappointment, noting with keen eyes from a distance that the small kettle she always fetched to brew her nightly cup of tea was sitting out on their usual bench, already used._ But it did not take very long to trounce Varric, _he reasoned hopefully._ She may still be awake. _

He decided to peek into the tent and check on her before removing his armor. _I suppose I could change in the tent regardless, since it seems nearly impossible to wake her. But perhaps if she is not yet asleep, we could indeed play Wicked Grace. I could… keep my armor on and practice hiding cards better. She is probably at least as observant as Varric. I… might even enjoy it if she finds me out. _Cautiously, he wondered if perhaps his arms would also bear her touch as easily as his hands did, imagining her deft fingers running along and under the straps of his armor seeking out hidden cards.

Then he thought of the night before and that morning, not needing to imagine how running his fingers along _her_ body had felt. He growled a quiet sigh to himself, wondering if she was laying there fidgeting even now. _Perhaps she fidgets because she is… sore again._ _Or if she is simply tired, I can practicing talking by telling her about my victory. Perhaps she would enjoy falling asleep to the sound of my voice, as I enjoyed falling asleep to hers. Perhaps she might even dream of me then, as I… _

Fenris paused mid-thought and mid-motion, one hand drawing aside the tent flap only to find himself still alone. Then he stepped fully into the tent and swept his eyes around. _She is not here, _he thought blankly, taken aback for a moment. _Perhaps she just stepped away?_

Then he noticed the bedrolls weren't even spread out. He crossed to the back of the tent and looked out the rear flaps, seeing both bedrolls laying there untouched. One of them shifted, for it had been sitting partly on the canvas, and the movement of opening the flaps disturbed it. _She must not have even come into the tent. She said she would have some tea to calm herself, then think about what to do with her evening. But where…_

Then, with a surge of hot jealousy, he realized why he did not see Anders sitting on the bench out by the fire, why the hirelings were playing such jaunty music and enjoying themselves, and why Hawke was not yet asleep or waiting for him in bed already.

"So, she is over there…" he growled to himself, squeezing his fist tight around her coins, which he still held. He stared at his fist for a moment before looking in the direction of the hireling's screened away section of camp. _The whole reason I agreed to sharing this tent with her is to keep Anders and those hirelings from… pawing and leering at her. And now she is over there with all of them, alone. Even Varric is elsewhere. _

His gaze shifted to her pack, noting with deep displeasure that both her daggers were sitting on top of it. "She is not even armed," he said to himself, voice grating even to his own ears. He glared at her weapons, holding himself rigid despite a flood of frustration that made him want to start pacing.

A faint sound of raucous laughter and clapping echoed across the cavern, bouncing off the stalactites and rocky walls thinly. Yet it was just enough to tip Fenris over the edge. He spun away, closing his eyes. "Venhedis! Fasta vass!" he growled, teeth gritting against the sudden anger that all his plans for the evening and for keeping Hawke safe had been undone.

He stalked to the very center of the quiet canvas tent, standing there and glaring at the empty, cold, stone floor. _And what am I supposed to do? _he thought angrily. _Just go to bed and forget my promise to protect her? Go over there? I do not even know if I wish her company, if she is still in that foul mood for no discernible reason.__ I am certain I do not wish the company of hirelings and that mage._

Thinking of the greedy way the other men eyed Hawke and spoke of her made jealousy sing in Fenris's veins like he had never known it to before._ I would think by now she would know better and have a care around men. But I know nothing of women. __Perhaps she has gone there to that end, seeking attention.__ She always talks to everyone, is always making new 'friends.' She has been quick enough remain silent and to walk away from me today, however, despite how she supposedly does not wish me to go, does not want me to do the same to her. She is not acting like a woman should. I should follow her over there and tell her how reckless she is being, remind her of her ever so important desire to remain professional. _

Then he grew bitter at the idea, imagining himself trotting all the way across the length of the massive cavern solely to seek her out. _And what am I to actually say to her? Or will I just lurk in the shadows, watching her until it becomes clear she does not need or want my company tonight?__ She is her own woman.__ She chose to go over there. She can defend herself. If she was tired, she would already be asleep. Clearly she has made her own plans for the night._

He fumed, realization dawning that Anders likely left and went straight over to her after dinner. _Doubtless he did not hesitate. I doubt she even hesitated herself before going off with that abomination. She seems intent on being blind to his true nature, to his true designs, and to the grave danger he brings to himself and all of us. _Fenris's brows drew deeply, and he had to force himself to unclench his hand before the coins bit any harder into the flesh and bones of his hand.

"Dumat take them all," he spat, using the foulest swear he knew as his rage flashed. In a flurry of motion, he reached out of the rear tent flaps and dragged both bedrolls in, untying them and kicking with his foot to roll them out. Not really caring which was which, he dropped Hawke's two sovereign onto the left bedroll, the side she always slept on, then began yanking off his armor.

Loudly he chucked all the pieces aside in a haphazard pile, not taking his usual care to neatly place it in readiness for the morning. Then he stripped off his tunic and threw it on top before laying down on the slightly crooked bedroll on his side of the tent.

The distant echoes of clapping, music, and occasional laughter snuck under the edge of thick canvas, and Fenris tried his best to ignore it, instead clasping his hands together over his flat stomach and twiddling his thumbs furiously. He forced all his thoughts away, settling himself into a quiescent state of mind and trying to go to sleep.

_I wanted to try to be more attentive, but how am I to do that when she is not even here? _he thought, anger and jealously bubbling despite his relative stillness. _The only reason I agreed to play Wicked Grace is because she wanted me to and so I could win back her coin. I did it for her. She wanted to prove her teaching skills to Varric so badly, as if she had taught me some trick, as if I was her… _

The unbidden thought that she treated him like a pet threw him into an even darker mood. _No, I will not think such thoughts. I am not myself. I do not understand this… anger, this jealousy. I do not understand why Hawke does anything, let alone what she is about tonight. It is not even worth thinking on. Sleep. _He could feel himself clenching his jaw so he forced himself to stop, settling back against the bolster and trying to make his muscles relax. He closed his eyes, resolved to not think about it further.

But errant notes of melodies kept rousing Fenris every time he started to drift off. _No doubt she is over there dancing with every single one of them. Letting them put their hands on her, letting Anders put his hands on her._ _I have seen the way people like to dance. They get so close, closer than I can bring myself to get to her. _

He remembered touching her that morning, running his hands along her shoulders, arms, and back, then caressing her neck, his face buried in her hair. Fenris thought of the night before, when he had stroked his hand across her waist, how he relished sliding his fingers up into her hair, how he had wanted to press up against her, but could not close the gap._ Not close enough, _he knew._ I can never get close enough. _His hands clenched and fisted on his smooth belly for a moment before he forced himself to be calm again.

In the uneven gaps between the thinly carrying music, Fenris could almost hear Hawke's voice, thinking then of how wistful she had become when she spoke of her father stealing into a masquerade ball to claim dance after dance with her mother. The thought made Fenris even more morose. _She called it… romantic. Does she find it romantic that Anders has stolen her away? Has he finally told her why it is he does not care for her sister? Is that why she doesn't return? _The very idea made him sick, his once-pleasantly full stomach twisting beneath his entwined hands.

_She wanted to dance with me before we left Kirkwall,_ he recalled darkly_. She turned down that ass of a mage and she wanted me, instead — but I refused her, because I cannot bear to let her touch me_._ And now… _He closed his eyes tightly, trying not to envision Hawke in Anders's arms the way Bethany had been that last night at The Hanged Man. _ She wants what I cannot give her, _he realized._ Talking, courting, dancing… the things she wants, the things she thinks important, I know nothing about. _

_It is no wonder I do not understand her. We have nothing in common. _The thought hung darkly above him like a cloud, seeming to mute all the small sounds that his keen ears had previously picked up.

_It is no matter. I wished for solitude, and now I have it._ With that last angry thought, he gave up entirely on the day and the night as well. After a few more minutes of quiet, sullen introspection, he finally made himself go to sleep by sheer force of will, using the skill he gained as a slave to focus on his deep weariness and let it drag him into unconsciousness.

* * *

_4 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Late Evening_

"You never told me you knew how to dance the Remigold," Hawke snickered, trying to be quiet and not to cause any echoes as she led Anders away from the hirelings' camp later that night. The apostate had enjoyed several too many ales, and it had taken some doing to persuade him it was time to get some sleep. The cavern was big enough that she feared he would not make it to his tent in a timely fashion or perhaps at all, if left to his own devices. So, dutifully, she guided him herself.

"Luh… Lady Cousland," Anders hiccuped, poking one finger against the hand Hawke had resting on his forearm as she steered him across the cavern. "Er… I mean 'Warden Commander _Queen_ Mrs. King Alistair Therein the First', may she reign forever… and may he trip facefirst into a bog, the lucky, damn bastard… literally… he's literally a bastard, you know that?" He paused, face screwing up in confusion as he tried to remember what he was originally talking about.

"Remigold," Hawke prompted with amusement, curiosity piqued too much to let the conversation languish.

"Right… Regimold. She uh… she taught it to me. How to dance it. Good." He began to list towards the right, and Hawke leaned heavily against him to push him back on course.

"Oh, well, then that explains why you do it so beautifully," she teased, remembering the way he had danced the woman's part of the dance, which left her trying to fill the man's role from memory. _Thank goodness I do not drink ale. We probably looked bad enough, me dancing as a solemn nobleman while Anders spun around like a tipsy old dowager comtessse whose had too much champagne at her daughter's wedding…_

"She danced it sooooo lovely-ly," he said, tone wistful as he gave an exaggerated nod. "She did everything so beautiful-like. Whyyyyy? Why did she have to go and be made queen, and just… just before I met her, I wonder?" He gave Hawke a grumpy look. "She is wasted… _wasted_, I say, on a life at court." He snorted loudly into her ear as they walked. "She should… should have stayed in the Way Gardens. Wag. Gay. Grey. _War_-dens. The. Grey. Wardens. There we go… With me." His head lolled back as he trudged listlessly along. "Her damn fault I joininged in the first place. Baaaaaaallsssssss…"

Anders began to sag down to the floor with each step, so Hawke hauled him back up bodily, picking up the pace as they neared their circle of tents. _He needs to lay down, but he doesn't need to do it out in the middle of the camp…_

"It's all right, Anders," she said, voice soothing but hushed, since she assumed Varric and Fenris were already asleep. "You've got lots of new friends and lots of adventure yet to come. And you have your clinic, and me, and _Bethany_…" She gave him a fond smile as he looked over at her, though he had to close one eye to focus on her and his head bobbled unsteadily on his neck.

"Thank the Maker for that," he said earnestly. "Meet… meeting you was the _best ever thing_. I'm justice sorry… No. _Just so_ sorry you had to find out about Ju…" He hiccuped again. "Justice. Like this. That. Then." His head sagged a little further down with each word.

_Oh dear, not this again. He doesn't need to be going on about that tonight, not in his state. The last thing I need is an inebriated spirit thinking we are all templars with Anders's magic harnessed to his will. _Hawke had to pull Anders up short before he tried to plow straight into his low tent. She wrestled her arm free from under his, tugging every few seconds on his coat to keep him steady on his feet as he leaned to and fro, looking forlorn.

"Well, here we are. Time for bed," she murmured brightly, moving him away from the subject of Justice. "_Do_ get some sleep now, and remember — no casting spells until you feel more… yourself, all right? There's no… You-know-who-lars down here. Just your friends. Yes?"

Anders gave another sad, exaggerated nod, almost falling into her. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady him and hold him upright.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again, face crinkling with grief. "Tell Bethany I'm sorry. Sorry for everything." He hung his head, rubbing at his face with one hand. "Maker, I should not have had so much ale tonight. And I should never have…" He looked back up again, expression utterly torn. "But you must know, I never meant for anything to happen. I didn't know, I didn't _remember_ until it was too late…"

She lifted one eyebrow, trying not to laugh, since he was clearly distressed. "Nothing… bad has happened, Anders," she reminded him, not aware of anything worse than too many ales in too short a span of time and some rather silly courtly dancing. "It's not even that late. The hirelings just brought you a few too many ales for healing their… little problems." _Maker, if we run out of ale halfway through the expedition, there is likely to be a riot. But, judging from the ale cart, I would guess that Varric perhaps had a hand in estimating how much would be required…_

Hawke squeezed both Anders's shoulders gently, finally ducking down to smile reassuringly up at him. He lifted his weary head to look at her, nodding weakly. "Just sleep it off," she murmured. "You'll feel more like yourself in the morning, I promise." _It is so cute when men get maudlin drunk — when I do it, not so much. Maker, I hate drinking so much that I start crying…_

Anders soberly looked from side to side at her hands on his shoulders, then he looked back into her eyes. Before Hawke knew what happened, she was wrapped in a fierce bear hug with her face crushed against his chest, feathers from his askew pauldrons tickling her nose as she fought to breathe.

"Goodnight, Marian," he whispered, squeezing her harder and rubbing her back for a few moments before releasing her and crawling into his tent.

Hawke stood there slightly stunned, then she rubbed at her tickled nose and chuckled softly to herself. _Oh, Anders. Varric is right, you truly are a hopeless romantic._ _He's still in love with the Queen of Ferelden, yet he wants me to apologize to Bethany for… whatever did or did not happen between them the night before we left Kirkwall. How adorable. Well, maybe there's hope for the two of them yet. _She shook her head fondly, then crept quietly for her tent, thoughts turning fully to her own hopes and affairs.

_Even though I got a bit angry at Fenris, I could not stop thinking about him tonight. As usual. I don't know if I should hope he is awake or not, though. I do not want to argue with him. _She paused, listening for a moment for any sound of movement from within the tent, but she heard nothing._ I will be quiet regardless, I don't want to bother him if he's already asleep. He says he does not need that much rest, and I might still be a little peeved at him, but that's no reason for me to go stomping around and waking him up. _

Though Hawke had kept thinking about it in the back of her mind all evening, she still didn't know what to say to him about his earlier comments. _I suppose I was a little… fidgety, but that is partly his own fault. Still, he needn't have said it like that, and in front of everyone. But… I did not exactly behave much better._ After reminiscing with the hirelings while listening to songs both familiar and new, she felt a lot more relaxed and much less angry. _I suppose I will figure out what say when it comes up. Knowing Fenris, he probably does not wish to talk about it._

The soft sound of music from the hirelings' camp finally waned as they, too, turned in for the night. _I wish Fenris knew how to dance, _she thought with a quiet sigh, drawing up before the tent. She stood there, staring distantly at the tent flaps as she recalled her dream of dancing with him._ The hirelings played so many good dancing songs, but none of them had any desire to dance with me. Perhaps I intimidate them since I am a partner_. She pushed away a self-conscious thought that perhaps she was just not that desirable a dancing partner.

_Well, perhaps Fenris will let me teach him someday,_ she thought instead._ I would much rather be in his arms than struggling to keep Anders from whirling into a campfire. He was so insistent about taking few turns around the hireling's camp, once he'd gotten enough ale into him, and I just didn't have the heart to say no. Despite his rather… lackluster performance._

As Hawke poked her head through the tent flaps, her resigned sigh turned into a quiet gasp, and she barely kept herself from swearing under her breath. _Andraste's tattooed backside, he's not wearing his shirt to sleep! _She closed the tent flaps and her eyes, sure she was imagining things. Then she peered in again, opening the flaps a little more and letting in some very dim light to better observe Fenris. He lay on his back, hands clasped over his stomach just above the waist of his snug, black leggings, indeed shirtless.

Fenris awoke without moving, without opening his eyes or even changing his breathing, roused from a relived nightmare of Hadriana without realizing he was no longer asleep. He was gripped with a sudden panic when he heard the sound of someone drawing close, half-convinced he dreamed on, half-convinced the nightmare was coming true. Instinctually using the habit born of years of torment and abuse, he remained utterly quiet and still, pretending to sleep on as he always had in the past, hoping that Hadriana would go away if he just didn't give her the satisfaction of showing his fear and revulsion — though it had never worked before.

Hawke's eyes swept slowly all over Fenris's body, never knowing he no longer slept. _What I wouldn't give to be able to just crawl on top of him and… mmm. _Her mouth went bone dry, and she stayed still for another minute more, just admiring the rise and fall of his smooth chest and trim stomach.

Her own breathing only seemed to speed up with each slow breath he took, and she soon breathlessly let her gaze tear across the planes of his chest and shoulders, racing along every twisting lyrium marking up, down, and across his naked upper body. _Andraste's sodden knickers, how am I supposed to get any sleep tonight? First, this morning, and now this? _She shifted, half torn between entering the tent or finding some hidden corner to explore away some of her swiftly escalating tension.

Struggling against his fear, Fenris kept telling himself he was not a slave, no longer in the Imperium and no longer in his tiny room across the hall from Danarius's suite — but with his eyes closed, the tent felt every bit as close as the stone walls of his old closet, and the all-too familiar feeling of being watched and the distinctive sound of a woman moving quietly nearby seemed indistinguishable from the dark dream he had just been having of Danarius's cruel, cold apprentice. _Is it a dream? So many times I told myself it was just a bad dream, and it wasn't… _

_No, I can hardly go sneaking off for something like __**that**__, _Hawke thought, though she ached with temptation and her mind instantly filled with any number of worthy fantasies. _What if someone heard… or saw? Maker. No, I just need to get some sleep. I'll do something about this tomorrow… killing spiders or darkspawn or something… _She reluctantly entered the tent, grateful for the relative darkness when the flaps fell closed behind her so she couldn't simply stand there gawking at Fenris.

_No. I am no longer there,_ he told himself as he heard soft footsteps, mind searching frantically for a foothold even as he showed no signs of his distress outwardly._ I am free now. Aren't I? It must be a nightmare. Perhaps it will change, perhaps she will go away and I will dream of something else._

Slipping off her soft shoes and tucking them into her corner of the tent, Hawke crawled along her bedroll. She smiled that it was overlapping Fenris's a little, and she settled down as quietly as she could, hoping not to disturb him from his slumber. Then she almost yelped as something cold and hard pressed against her side, and she reached under her hip to pull two gold sovereigns out.

_Go away, please just go away, _Fenris repeated to himself, the sound of her close approach immediately setting off the agonized chant he had always thought of whenever Hadriana interrupted his sleep._ Be a nightmare… do not let me be awake._

_Did he put these on my bedroll? _Hawke wondered with a frown, trying not to clink the coins or click them against the stone floor as she set them above her bolster. _Maker, he could have just put them in my pack or my belt pouch. I assume this means he won Wicked Grace tonight, though it rather feels like I'm being… paid or something. _

Her face screwed up at the thought of being compensated, though she knew Fenris's feelings on whores — and of course she knew full well he'd just been returning her wagers._ And unfortunately, we have done nothing quite so tawdry to be considered… services rendered, _Hawke thought, barely suppressing a rueful snicker_. _

_No, it is Hawke, _Fenris finally realized as his panic reached a crescendo. _Not Hadriana. This is not a dream._ _Hawke is truly here. I do not want her to go away. I want her to stay, I do not want her to go anywhere. I should not have gone to sleep, the nightmares have not come with her near. _He tried to move, to open his eyes, turn to her, and speak — but he couldn't, his body refusing to trust his thoughts.

When still a slave, Fenris had told himself repeatedly that by serving Danarius dutifully and doing as Hadriana commanded, he would be safe. But despite his loyalty, he could never seem to do enough to please either of them, and the magisters had dashed his hopes and proved true his darkest fears over and over again. Eventually his body had seen fit to protect itself since his will was too broken to keep himself from harm. This night his instinct for self-preservation once more overrode his wishes, ignoring reason, since once it had been the magisters' own twisted logic that had governed his mind.

Looking over at Fenris after she set aside the coins, Hawke's eyes wandered up and down his body yet again. She began gnawing on her lower lip, thinking heatedly, _I'd give him the 'two gold treatment' if he'd let me — no charge_._ Andraste's mink purse, it should be me paying him, in fact…_

Propping herself up a little on one elbow, she strained her eyes against the darkness to get a good, close look at the tight skin of his muscular chest, the silvery markings that wound across it, the chain of his pendant snaking down between the tight mounds of his pectorals, the pewter medallion pressed against his skin, and a nice, long ogle at his nipples, which she found utterly fascinating for some reason. _When did I become so completely lascivious?_ she wondered, absentmindedly licking her lips. Then she closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her face. _Andraste forgive me, for_ _I am but a weak, weak woman for this man._

_I got jealous and angry that Hawke wasn't here,_ Fenris thought, trying to recount what had happened before he went to sleep to convince himself he was safe._ I wanted her here. Why do I now I fear her presence? It is Hawke. It is. It is Marian. _He tried to shake off the disconcerting terror that gripped him, but none of his thoughts or emotions seemed to make sense. Remembering falling asleep jealous and angry at her did not match up with how he now wanted her, and waking up terrified and confused was how he had been as a slave, not how he was now as a free man, not even when he was pursued. His body therefore continued to refuse to trust or believe, leaving Fenris to be held captive with his own thoughts and memories.

After taking a moment to get ahold of herself, Hawke quietly lowered her hand from her eyes. _Behave, Marian… You should be going to sleep. _Her gaze soon wandered down Fenris's abdomen, however, and she found herself watching him breathe again while staring at his strong, comforting hands. The thought of his hands did nothing to relax her now, however, reminding her more of the ecstasy of being at his mercy and arched back into him as he caressed her throat than the languid bliss of having him soothe her aching muscles.

Hawke rubbed distractedly at her neck as she watched him sleep. _No. I should not do this. I am behaving like a… lusty camp follower. What if he wakes up and catches me staring? I should turn over and go to sleep. But… I wish I could get him to turn over. I would love to see his back… and rear. _She groaned inwardly, aware that her efforts to resist already flagged.

_Perhaps freedom was the dream, _Fenris thought, growing despondent._ Perhaps all of it has been some cruel illusion, another experiment. Perhaps that is why I cannot move. It is some magic, some spell my master is testing on me. _He clenched his teeth at that, finally gaining some small purchase over his body as the thought of Danarius as his master jarred him._ No. He is Danarius. He is no longer my master. Not anymore._

Hawke was too busy taking in Fenris's other sights to notice the tightness about his jaw. _I can barely see his sides, and I never did get a proper, good look at his back. But perhaps it is for the best. My list is full to bursting at the moment. Look at me, devastated by a man's navel. Oooh, but it is such a fine, handsome navel… and the things I would do to it, given the chance… _She paused, realizing she didn't actually know what she would do, had she access to it, then deciding with lusty confidence that she'd find something appropriate. She went back to admiring Fenris._ And the way the markings over here along his waist wind down to his narrow hips and disappear into his leggings… rawr.  
_

_No, it couldn't have all been a dream, _Fenris thought, struggling to get a firmer grasp on himself, trying to drive back the darkness that had welled up from deep inside to claim him._ I have been running from Danarius for years. I am free. I'm free. _He repeated this new, comforting phrase to himself, wanting it to be true.

_Maker, don't tell me he prefers sleeping shirtless,_ Hawke suddenly thought._ I remember how I used to think it so uncomfortable the way Father strode around shirtless first thing in the morning, and how Mother would get that girlish look on her face. Whenever Bethany, Carver and I started making disgusted noises at their antics, Mother would just say we'd understand someday. _

She shook her head, straining against a desire to feel every last contour of Fenris that she could see. _Well, now I suppose I do understand. In fact, I have half a mind to hide every shirt and tunic he owns, once I get him back to Kirkwall and his mansion… _She looked down at his muscular, long legs, then looked away again._ I cannot even handle speculating on his leggings right now. Andraste's quivering lower lip, no! I must get some sleep eventually, after all._

Calmly, Fenris made began to make convincing arguments about where he was, that he was no longer a slave, no longer alone, no longer pursued while in the Deep Roads. He was laying on a hard stone floor, not a hard, straw pallet; the reason he didn't have the thick, luxurious covers and blankets of his bed over him was because he didn't need any in the cozy tent, not because Danarius did not care enough about him to even think of _neglecting_ to provide any.

Hawke imagined Fenris asleep in his comfortable bed, shirtless — then herself with him, both of them shirtless. _Just to sleep in that comfortable, close bed, all pressed up against him, wrapped in those strong arms… that would be enough for me. Perhaps. _Her imagination began to move well past simple shirtless cuddling, and the last of the unwinding she had done raising morale and laughing with the hirelings fled utterly._ Then again, perhaps not. Andraste's rumbling pot belly, I honestly think I might explode. 'Boom,' as Sandal would say. _She fought an urge to growl and wiggle, wryly remembering Fenris's own comments about her not being able to sit still._ Then he comes in here and goes to sleep shirtless. Maker! Cruel, insufferable man… the way he teases me._

Fenris reminded himself he'd chosen to sleep shirtless because he had been too upset about Hawke's absence to go retrieve his silk shirt out of his pack, not because Hadriana had come by to strip his thin, short tunic off. Even as he assured himself, cringed inwardly, still half-expecting at any moment to feel Hadriana's cold, long-nailed hand rake down his front and along his leggings, seeking to arouse him through his clothes. She always found it amusing to bring him almost to completion, then leave him for the rest of the night with an admonition that he was not to touch himself further, not that he had ever wanted to after her loathsome abuse.

Hawke lay back on her side, fighting to keep her hands on her own bedroll. She eventually clasped them tightly between her thighs for good measure. _I cannot even touch him! His hands are on his… utterly amazing stomach, and I do not want to startle him by trying to pull one over while he sleeps. _She remembered his angry growling when she had tried to wake him up at his mansion, and she did not want to give him another reason to hesitate around her if he wound up reacting poorly upon awakening. _No, let him sleep, Marian. Keep your hands to yourself. Look, but don't touch. _

_I am free, I am no longer there, no longer a slave, _Fenris told himself over and over, trying to lock away the the foul memories, recurrent fear, and gut-wrenching hatred. _Hadriana will never touch me again. She is not here. It is Hawke, and she is nothing like Hadriana. I want her touch. It feels right._

Tearing her attention away from his body and seeking less charged sights, Hawke looked at Fenris's face. Her eyes began lovingly tracing his sleeping profile, making up for the short amount of time she had spent not in his company. _My Fenris… so handsome, so elven, so beautiful. I love everything about his face, from the tips of his pointy ears to the tip of his pointy nose. _She sighed quietly to herself. _He truly has no idea how attractive he is. But it only lends him that artless, effortless air that I so admire. I could watch him sleep all night…_

_If I just open my eyes and look at her, I will see Hawke, _Fenris told himself firmly._ I will see plainly that she is nothing like Hadriana. Even when we argue, there is always tenderness, gentleness, and… warmth in her eyes. She cares for me. She is right there. _Yet he was still paralyzed by the old, insidious fear that it was Hadriana in the room, the fear Hawke had inadvertently triggered, that Fenris himself had assumed had faded, though he had let no one else close enough since his escape to know one way or the other. _I should have gone to her. Or I should have waited to sleep until I could hold her. I should be holding her even now._

As Hawke smiled, gazing lovingly at him, she noticed the look on his face. _He looks very… grim, even in his sleep. I hope I didn't spoil his mood when I stormed off. I would have loved to see a smile on his lips as he slept, tonight. Ahh, his lips. Fenris's delightful, full, kissable lips… _She smiled even more deeply herself, thinking of how much she enjoyed his smiles, finding them all the more endearing for their rarity. _Hopefully, I will soon have more reliable ways of making them appear,_ she thought, her imagination already tearing away from her, though she tried to contain it._ You'll get there, Marian, he just needs to take his time, _she reminded herself._ But, for tonight, I hope he has sweet dreams that make him smile_._ I wonder what sorts of dreams he has? And I wonder if he ever dreams about me?_

A growing part of Fenris strained powerfully against his instincts, wanting to move, wanting to turn to Hawke and feel for her even if he could not bear to open his eyes. He managed to shift slightly at the thought of holding her and getting as close as he could again, but then his fears latched on to even that desire, twisting it against him to hold him fast. _What if I get jealous and angry with her again? If rage takes hold of me… What if I mistake her for Hadriana as I have just been doing? _

Hawke saw Fenris move, and she froze for a few moments. His face seemed to go even more grim, and she suddenly ached to brush the hair out of his eyes and caress his face. _I have not been able to do nearly enough of that. I shall rectify it in the morning,_ she decided, still too cautious of startling him awake with her touch to reach for him. _I have been holding back after the past few days… but he did not seem to hold back this morning. Even though he was guarded about what happened again when we… got close, he did so much better this time. And I… I must confess his markings felt utterly wonderful._ She shuddered a little just remembering the intense, almost passionate feel to Fenris's lit markings and the hum of power that had emanated from his hands. _I probably made a fool out of myself calling out his name over and over again… Maker, but I am helpless under his touch._

_No,__ I know her better now,_ Fenris told himself, trying to flex his fingers, hoping to move some small part of himself._ I did not hurt her this morning. Even if I do not understand her, I know her and I would not hurt her. Hawke. Marian. Look at her. Look at her and see it is her. Or speak her name, and she will say mine. The way she says my name… _But he could not make himself do anything, his despair growing and holding him faster the more he struggled futilely against his traitorous panic.

_I wonder if I should ask him about his markings__, _Hawke thought_. I know he does not like to talk about… well, almost everything — but I care about him_. _I just want to understand him better. _Her eyes began fondly tracing the markings that branched up Fenris's throat. Right where the tattoo forked into two prongs of lyrium under his chin was where she longed to cup his face and pull him over, desiring to follow with her own lips the sinuous curves that wound upwards to kiss his lower lip.

_Say her name, _Fenris commanded himself, trying to move his lips. _Just speak her name. _

_I love him, and I love his markings, _Hawke thought resolutely, smiling as his lips twitched as she watched._ They are part of who he is, and I trust him. If he tries to send me away again because of them… I will not go. There must be something I can do to help. I'll find some way to talk to him about it, to make him understand. Maybe he already wants to talk and just does not know how to approach the topic. _She sighed fondly, thinking of how Fenris insisted he was a poor conversationalist, though she could think of no one she would rather talk to about anything.

_I am too weak to go to her, too broken to understand her, _Fenris thought in despair when he failed to make a sound._ I cannot call out to her. I cannot look at her. I do not understand her enough to read anything into her gaze, to know why she speaks my name the way she does. I cannot do this. I cannot._

_He has come so far__, _Hawke thought with swelling adoration_, and through so much adversity, all on his own__. He is intelligent, handsome, witty, and he tries to be polite and do the right thing, despite everything he has been through. _She wished she could reach out and stroke his face, feeling a surge of pride in him. _My brave, fearless, wonderful Fenris. You aren't alone anymore. And I cannot wait for morning… maybe then I can find some way to show you just how much you mean to me, how amazing you truly are. _

_No matter how far I run__, _Fenris thought at last, ceasing to struggle_, no matter how many times I put my past behind me, it seems I will never be free_. _Never…  
_

_I love you and I want you__, _Hawke thought_, even if you insisted on calling me unprofessional today,_ _simply because you have me wound so tight I might pop and I can't help myself when I'm around you_. She chuckled silently, thinking of their earlier tiff_. But someday, I will return that favor… _With a sly smile she lay back against her bolster, reluctantly letting her eyes drift shut as she tried to go to sleep while still gazing over at Fenris's profile.

As Hawke finished bedding down, it became completely quiet in the tent. In the silent, dark stillness, Fenris began to lose hope that he would ever be able to move again, that he would never be able to break free, that night or ever. _This is probably what death feels like. Darkness. Silence. Loneliness. No future, just reliving your past life._

He thought then of all the countless people he had killed for Danarius, those whose lives he had unquestioningly cut short at the magister's bidding, wondering if he didn't deserve his torments. He thought of the Fog Warriors in particular, their deaths standing out foremost in his mind. _I told myself after that that I couldn't be what I was anymore. That I had to do something. That there had to be something more to life, or what was the point of living at all? _

The guilt he felt over their deaths stole away the last of his own self-pity. _I cannot stay like this. I cannot. I do not want to be afraid, running, alone forever. There must be something more. They gave me everything, and yet I took everything from them. _His fingers finally moved, curling into weak fists._ This living in fear is a poor way to repay what they unwillingly sacrificed for me. It does not honor them.  
_

Slowly and solemnly, Fenris began working his body loose, shifting his limbs and opening his eyes, making his escape from the prison of his own fears and past.

When he continued to move, Hawke's eyes came open again and she looked over at him, noticing he was awake. "Fenris?" she asked quietly. _I hope I didn't wake him, but… I'm glad he is awake._

Fenris did not reply, did not look at her, turning his head away instead, feeling ashamed of many things present and past — his night terror, his jealous and angry thoughts over her absence, being unable to bear her touch, the Fog Warriors deaths, allowing Hadriana's ongoing abuse, being a compliant slave to Danarius, his general inexperience with life, and as always, his utter lack of understanding of what she was to him, though he continued to return to her despite everything.

_Why does he look away? _Hawke sat up a little, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to tuck Fenris's hair aside and brush the backs of her fingers along his cheek. He took a deep breath before looking over at her, and the drawn look on his face alarmed her. "What's wrong, Fenris?"

Fenris just shook his head, ignoring the tense feeling of the muscles in his neck, painful from being locked rigidly in place. _I can't tell her. I do not want her to know. I do not want her to hate me. Or worse, pity me. _

She scooted closer, but not too close, as she ran her fingers through his hair. _Maybe he had a bad dream? Mother said Father would never cry out, he would just wake up in middle of the night sometimes, silent, terrified and exhausted._

Hawke had never seen her father awaken from a nightmare — only her mother knew as he was having them. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months apart, Hawke and her brother and sister would find their father sitting at the table in the morning, looking pale, drawn, and shaken. It often took him a few days to get back to his normal self, and he never once spoke of what his dreams had been.

"It's all right," Hawke said soothingly, smoothing Fenris's hair down. She ran her fingertips along his brow, just as he often did for her, now. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Fenris hesitated, then shook his head again, afraid she would ask what his dreams had been about if he was fully truthful. _The nightmare of Hadriana may have started this, but… It was my own weakness, my own fear that held me. This fear the magisters put inside me… I thought I was rid of it. I should be rid of it, I should be free of it and them by now._

_Not a bad dream? _Hawke thought, worrying still. _Then I must have woken him up despite my efforts of being quiet. _She pulled her fingers away from Fenris's brow and reached to take his hand in hers. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I didn't mean to wake you." She gently worked her fingers into his loose fist as she kissed the back of his hand.

"It is I who am sorry," he said quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for." _At least I can apologize to her, _Fenris thought, always quick to do so since he had been left unable to make amends to the Fog Warriors. _I have done this to myself. These are my burdens, not hers._ He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away from her, rubbing at his face with both hands.

"I… I feel that I must, though." Hawke looked away, missing his touch immediately and feeling suddenly ashamed of her behavior, of storming away, of staying away too long, of staring at him while he slept and inadvertently waking him. _I was going to wait until morning to do this, but since he's awake…_

"You were so lovely to me this morning, and I've been acting like a fool since…" she explained apologetically. _A lovesick, lusty, reckless, impatient fool for you, though either you are utterly unaware of what you do to me or the cruelest tease of man who has ever lived. _Fenris lowered his hands from his face and she found herself staring at his lips, so had to look away again_. _Her gaze just wound up on his stomach, however.

Hawke shook her head and sighed in resignation, pushing forward with her apology."I shouldn't have been so moody at dinner. Of course you should feel free to play cards without me hovering around you. I should not have imposed myself, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did when you mentioned that I was behaving foolishly, because I was. Anders told me what you said after I left, and you were right… I was very poor company…"

As she delivered her lengthy, comprehensive apology, Fenris rolled onto his side facing her. Hawke lay back down too, keeping a respectful distance, still talking. Her torrent of words pushed back his somber thoughts, and he found he was too exhausted to do anything but listen. _It is no wonder I have difficulty understanding her — there are just so many words. But… she needn't explain herself to me. She is her own woman and should do as she pleases._

"Hawke…"

"… Though instead of being alone to sort myself out, I went to raise morale with the hirelings. I remembered Varric grumbling about it earlier so I thought it both professional and helpful to try my hand at smoothing things over. I _am_ a partner, after all. And, you know, most of them are Fereldan refugees, too, so it was nice to reminisce about home. It's hard to find someone besides a Fereldan who wants to talk about Ferelden, especially in Kirkwall… most people just think, 'Oh, it's brown and full of Fereldans, and smells like dog.' But I've lived near where some of them are from, since I lived all over Ferelden, and others are even related to a few of the miners from the Bone Pit — such a small world, no? And the ones who play music are surprisingly good at their instruments. They played so many good tavern songs and campfire songs and even some love songs… Ahh, It was lovely to listen to some music instead of that loud whooshing noise that is everywhere down here…"

Fenris's eyes began to slip shut as she rambled on. _I must be too tired for this, for all I truly heard was 'Ferelden' repeatedly. I should stop her. I am a poor listener tonight._

"_Hawke_…"

His weary voice nudged her back on topic, though the sight of his bare chest heaving with a sigh nearly sent her off on a whole other tangent. _Focus, Marian. You have enough apologies to make without adding throwing yourself on top of him to the list. _She closed her eyes for a moment.

"…But I wish I had come back sooner — I just thought you and Varric would be playing for a while again. And… well, I must confess that I assumed you might want some time away from me since I _was_ being a little insufferable… I missed you, of course, but I didn't really know what to say, and I know you like having space to yourself. And then I wind up waking you up, and now I'm talking your ears off. So… yes. I _am_ sorry. For those all those things." As Hawke's apology wound down, she found herself staring distantly down between their bodies at Fenris's navel again. _Maker, why must he be so endlessly distracting?_

_She missed me?_ Fenris thought, blinking his eyes open and looking aside as he tried to remember what else she had said. He sighed, having little luck recalling it all. He felt guilty all over again for not listening attentively to her earnest apology, so decided the least he could do was apologize properly himself.

"I am sorry you felt you had to go elsewhere tonight," he said, choosing the truest, best, and broadest apology he could think of. "But… I am glad you are here now." _I should have waited for her or gone to her. My thoughts… my anger, my jealousy… they were unworthy of her. As I am._

Hawke tried to look over into his eyes, but couldn't. She felt rather bashful laying beside a shirtless Fenris when she still felt so amorous after their morning encounter and after gazing at him while he slept. "I'm… glad I'm here now too, Fenris," she replied weakly.

_She sounds tired,_ he thought, feeling the weight of his own deep, quiet weariness. He took in the sight of Hawke, noting her lowered eyes and still form. _She looks tired as well. She seems barely able to keep her eyes open, but at least she no longer seems as restless as she did at dinner. _Fenris reached over and tucked a few locks of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail down to her neck. The sensation of touching her skin seemed sweeter than usual for all his earlier, blind terror that it wasn't truly her.

_She just feels so… right. How could I ever mistake even the sound of her for Hadriana? _he thought reproachfully._ I am a fool and a coward… _Comforted by the familiar feel of her smooth throat, his fingers followed the edge of her soft shirt's collar, trailing across her necklace when the fabric dropped away into the modest V at her chest. _Hawke. Marian._

Hawke felt a hot flush steal down her neck and chest, as if Fenris's fingertips seared fire across her skin. _Is… is it hot in here? No wonder he took his shirt off. Maker, I wish he hadn't though. It didn't feel that hot before — not nearly as bad as last night. But… I have no idea what he wore to bed last night, since I was asleep the whole time… _The thought that she might have already slept next to him shirtless made her want to fidget.

_Though I do not deserve it,_ Fenris thought,_ I will relish the feel of her hands tonight. _He found himself relaxing at just the thought of Hawke's touch on him instead of just his on her._ Perhaps I will be able to rest now that she is close. _"We should sleep, Hawke."

_Yes, sleep, Marian. If we stay up much longer… Maker help us both. _Hawke nodded, clearing her throat as his fingers slipped away from her neck. "That sounds like… just the thing," she agreed quietly, throat tight. "A lovely idea." She tried to slow her thudding heart while Fenris made himself comfortable on his bedroll, pressing her hand to her chest and taking a few deep breaths trying to calm herself.

Fenris watched her as she lay quietly waiting for him._ Could I bear to have her press her hand to my chest like that tonight? _he wondered._ I slept so peacefully that night, with her other hand against my cheek as her fingers ran along my ear. _He glanced down at himself, at his bare, lyrium-etched skin, thinking there would be no silk barrier between her and his markings, no thin buffer if the searing pain surfaced.

_No._ _I do not care,_ he decided._ I just do not want those… nightmares. I have had more than enough fear for one night. For a lifetime — or whatever part of my lifetime I can remember. _Some unspoken part of himself felt he even deserved the pain, that it was a fitting punishment for what he had done, especially to the Fog Warriors._  
_

_How am I supposed to even close my eyes to sleep!_ Hawke thought, glancing at Fenris then looking up at the tent ceiling. She cleared her throat again and undid two buttons of her shirt, tugging on it to fan herself. _Maker, but it __**is**__ hot in here…_

"I am tired, Hawke, so you undoubtedly must be," Fenris said, hoping she could settle herself in before his resolve could flag. _It is Hawke. Her touch feels right. It will be nothing like __her__ hateful touch. _He refused to even think of Hadriana's name._ I want this. I do._

He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed at his forehead, already driving back memories of Hadriana digging her nails into his bare chest. He refused to relive the feel of her perched nonchalantly on his stomach, scratching one sharp nail along his markings as he fought to breathe and not to antagonize her further, all the while listening as she told him all the secret things she had been doing with some other magister's apprentice out of some twisted desire to make Fenris jealous.

_As if I ever wanted her, _he thought with revulsion._ How could anyone have wanted that sniveling, corrupted, hateful bitch? The only fantasies her attentions ever gave me were ones of her slow, agonizing death. _He also refused to remember that the fantasies had only come later, when he was no longer a slave, that, at the time, he'd just begged Hadriana to leave him alone.

Hawke watched Fenris through the darkness, settling down as she realized how tired he seemed. _I'm sure the last thing he needs is me fidgeting more tonight. _"Sleep, Fenris," she said gently, reaching over to squeeze his hand. She smiled as he squeezed back, for she had been a little afraid he did not want any contact at all after releasing her hand before she apologized. "And sweet dreams."

_I have done nothing to deserve her attentions tonight, but… I find I no longer care. _Silently, Fenris guided their joined hands up to his bolster, unclasping Hawke's hand briefly to guide her fingertips along the side of his face. Sensing that he wanted just what she had been looking forward to doing more of in the morning, Hawke gladly slid her palm along his cheek, letting her fingers splay out to caress him. She could feel him relax against her hand as her thumb soothed his furrowed brow, then go utterly languid as her fingertips traced along his ear.

Hawke relaxed herself as his hand slid down hers to rub along her wrist and forearm, pushing back the sleeve of her shirt and stroking more lines of warmth into her skin. _Mmm, I have been waiting all day for this. Maker, but his hands definitely belong somewhere at the top of my prodigious list. And they absolutely belong __on__ me. I could fall asleep like this every night. _But her relaxation fled almost immediately, heart beginning to race once more as Fenris's other hand picked hers up. His eyelashes brushed her palm as he closed his eyes, and she felt his brows draw down deeper as he began pulling her hand slowly to his chest.

_I do not care if the pain comes. I want this, _Fenris thought, holding the memory of his sweet dreams of no longer having markings in his mind as a ward against the memories of the ritual and its agony. _Her touch is nothing like Danarius, nothing like Hadriana, nothing like the hunters who sought to hold me down, to bind me…  
_

_Oh yes, please,_ Hawke thought feebly, holding her breath as Fenris brought her hand closer. She could already feel his steady, reassuring pulse in his warm fingertips, but she ached for the feel of his heartbeat throbbing against his chest and under her hand. _As fine as his silk shirt is, the feel of his skin is so much finer. Oh, how am I ever going to sleep again? _Then he hesitated, stopping just as her hand hovered over the peak of his chest, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

Fenris struggled against himself, redoubling his efforts. _The way she looks at me, the way she touches me… Forget the pain. Forget the past. I want her touch now. No more fear. _Still, he moved no further as part of him recalled the torment of the ritual, of having his markings touched over and over again with nothing but discomfort from it.

But Hawke could no longer hold back.

"Fenris," she whispered, closing the small gap and laying her hand directly over his heart. She could feel him stiffen and quiver slightly, his hand tightening over hers and clasping it to his chest. _His lyrium talent, his aversion to being touched, his hesitations… not tonight, Fenris. I cannot bear to let you withdraw tonight. _

_I had hoped it would be like my hands, that it would not burn, _Fenris thought with a grimace, trying to let the hissing pain and remembered agony pass through him. He did not fight it, afraid that it would build or linger if he struggled against it — something that had taken him long months to even learn, yet that he still hadn't mastered after many years of trying. _Three years since anyone has touched me there with kindness, since the Fog Warriors tended my wounds… it hurt even then, but I was still more a slave, more an animal than a man.  
_

"This morning…" Hawke reminded him soothingly, flexing her hand to softly run the pads of her fingertips over him, reveling in the silky, steely feel of warm flesh over lithe muscle over unyielding bone. Her other hand traced along his ear, seeking to relax him again, for she could feel the uneven, nervous breaths he took with the halting rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand. _You needn't be guarded with me, Fenris. Even if your markings light, I am not going anywhere. You need me tonight; you need this. And I will do anything, if you just ask,_ she thought, promising it to him again in her mind._ And this, I gladly and freely do without you asking. Because I've wanted it, too._

Fenris's searing pain quickly peaked and began to fade away as she caressed his chest, as gentle fingers ran across the winding lyrium lines with tenderness and no deliberate path. _I… wanted this. It… it is bearable. It was so much worse with Hadriana, with the way she intentionally dug into my markings, _he reminded himself, trying to keep his tightening thoughts moving and confident as the agony settled back down deep, not wanting it to be roused again by feelings of despair or weakness. The pleasurable feel of Hawke stroking his ear helped split his attention further, but Fenris still held himself cautiously against the possibility that memories of the ritual could surge back up.

_He is so utterly desirable and he doesn't even know it, _Hawke thought, biting her lower lip as she gazed over at Fenris. He remained silent, eyes still squeezed shut with his face half-buried into her palm. Though he still held her other hand firmly pressed to his chest, holding her in place with his warm and immovable grip, Hawke explored him with her fingertips, splaying them out and reaching as far as she could. _Such soft, cool skin. What I wouldn't give to run my lips all over him. It would feel like… drawing a silk scarf across my face. I wager he would enjoy it almost as much as… _She paused, feeling a small nub with her littlest finger. She swirled a circle across it, flushing furiously on her bedroll when she felt Fenris's chest rumble and heave with a quiet sigh._ Andraste's pert pink… his nipple!_

_Yes…_ Fenris thought, sagging and breathing out a ragged breath. He was both relieved and increasingly aroused as the pain faded fully away leaving nothing but the deeply pleasant sensation of Hawke's caresses. The sensual feel of her seemed only heightened in comparison to the initial pain, and the agonies of the ritual slipped from his awareness much faster than usual. _She is indeed nothing like Hadriana. She is nothing like any woman I have ever met. The way she touches me, looks at me, says my name… It just feels… _

He shifted slightly and released his grip on her hand as her fingertip grazed his nipple again, more than content to let her explore a little more. _…Right, _he finished, sighing with a soft growl. As he had trusted, even without his hand to guide her, Hawke's hand remained just there, over his heart affectionately exploring only that one area of his chest._ So mindful of me… to think that she cares, that she wants me. _

Eyes still closed, Fenris reached across for Hawke, fingertips nudging her stomach then sliding up and under the hem of her shirt until his hand rested on the bare skin of the small of her waist. Though he could feel her sharp intake of breath as his hand slid under her shirt and across her stomach, Hawke made no protest, and he trusted that she did not mind his desire for close contact.

Fenris resettled his light grip on her wrist and nuzzled his face more comfortably against her hand. _Perhaps by the time we return to Kirkwall… _he thought, feeling his lips brush against her palm._ But for now, to sleep. No more memories or nightmares. No more fear. No hunters, no Hadriana, no Danarius. Just… Hawke. Marian._

Though he didn't open his eyes, Hawke smiled over at Fenris, at the bold way he had placed his hand on her waist without hesitation. _Mmm, the feel his touch on my stomach! Where was he last night when I wanted this? Maker, but I cannot complain today. It just feels nice to have his hands on me again. I am a lucky woman…  
_

They remained silent, both of them wanting to get some sleep but neither wishing to hasten winding down the quiet moment of closeness by saying goodnight. Despite her excitement and the unending desire she felt for Fenris, Hawke eventually lulled herself to sleep as her fingers slowly stroked him into a calm slumber.

The rest of Fenris's night was comfortably and blessedly dreamless, as he received a rare reprieve from his usual deep, ever-lingering disquietude. After churning up and burning off so many buried emotions, letting Hawke refill the emptiness with the gentle reassurances of her presence and touch gave him the measure of peace he sorely needed to keep back the darkness for a time.


	36. Interlude: Deeper and Deeper, Part 2

**A/N:** One whole Deep Roads day ahead! But seeing as how it was the one that was giving me trouble, I'll take it. I humbly hope that you, too, will enjoy it.

Songs I will pretend the hirelings are trying to play on their sad little homemade instruments! - http:/ bit. ly / nbaegX (remove the spaces) - I particularly recommend tracks 5 (Si Baeg, Si Mor) and 12 (Ashoken Farewell) for the sad/sleepy songs. (It is towards the very end of the chapter — you'll see!)

I will be going on vacation (whaaa?) next week, so I am not sure how long the next chapter will take, but rest assured I will be stewing on it even if I'm not able to actively write! As always, you can check in on me on my mah twitterz to reassure yourself that I didn't disappear forever.

Without further ado… Bioware owns all, and let's all hope they give us some good new Fenris bits in the DA: Legacy DLC on the 26th, shall we? Yay!

* * *

_Andraste's toasty toes, why is it so warm in here?_ Hawke rapidly fanned her shirt, then froze, shivering as Fenris ground out a quiet sigh against her ear. His deep voice rumbled directly into it and she flushed hot again, going utterly weak.

"You look very… hot, Marian."

"It… it is quite warm in here for s-some r-reason, y-yes," she stuttered, shivering despite the heat as his lips brushed against and followed the contours of the shell of her ear. _Mmm, Fenris, the things you do to me…_ As his lips trailed down to her earlobe, she could feel the tip of his nose nuzzling her as well. _Oh, Fenris, even your nose makes me want to melt…_

"Hmmm… I am sure it is just you," he murmured, clearly amused from the tone of his voice at her lack of composure. "I feel perfectly content at the moment. But…" Hawke felt big, strong hands slide down her back, around her waist, and onto her stomach. Elegant, long fingers then grasped her shirt's lowest button, pausing. "Shall I… assist you?"

Complicity, she leaned back against Fenris's bare chest, head lolling to rest on his shoulder as he peered over her to unbutton her shirt. His muscular arms encircled her, flexing, squeezing, and brushing against her as he very slowly and deliberately undid each fastening of her soft, gray shirt.

_I'm glad I didn't take it off last night, _Hawke decided. _It's so much better this way…_

Sitting on the bedrolls between his long, outstretched legs, she stroked her hands along his thighs, occasionally raking her short nails into the fabric of his leggings. She marveled at the powerful feel of his thick, stone-hard leg muscles, distractedly envisioning the explosive, fearless way he charged into battle, always keeping an easy, low, menacing stance, always moving with effortless, graceful strides between their foes, sometimes leaping high to bring his huge, heavy greatsword down in a mighty overhand swing. _His fierce power, his controlled rage, that lithe body… everything about him is amazing._ She ardently squeezed his thighs, feeling his rippling muscles beneath her hands.

Hawke could only assume he approved of her attentions, for Fenris pulled his legs in even closer, pressing them up against her as she sat nestled cross-legged before him, now tightly caged by his unyielding limbs.

_My Fenris, such a strong, fearless warrior, _she thought passionately._ He will make me a fine lover, and soon, I will be the only one who can bring him to his knees…_

"Mmmm, hurry up, Fenris…" she murmured, plucking at his leggings impatiently. He stopped, however, releasing the third button he was on and dropping his hands to rest on her thighs.

"Are _you_ rushing _me_, woman?" he asked slowly, tone incredulous. "Usually I am the one that has to keep _you_ from dawdling. And whatever happened to taking our time?"

Without turning to look at him, Hawke slid one hand up Fenris's bare bicep, along his shoulder and over to his neck, fingers slipping past the lyrium markings there and up into his hair until she could tilt his head towards her. "We _will_ take our time…" she promised, leaning up murmur into then nibble along his pointy ear. She waited until she elicited a shudder from him before adding, "… Once we get these pesky clothes off."

Fenris growled in appreciation and approval, and Hawke held on as his strapping biceps flexed in readiness. With one mighty, lustful motion, his hands pressed against her breasts, fingers hooking into the button gaps and pulling, ripping her shirt asunder as she gasped breathlessly against his neck.

"Oh Fenris, yes! You _beast_!"

* * *

_5 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Morning  
_

Neither Hawke nor Fenris woke for Bartrand's shouting the next morning, for in the massive cavern, even the irascible expedition leader's thunderous, angry voice got lost in the vast space — especially given that he directed his shouting mostly at the hireling's secluded camp on the other side of the cavern.

Thus, making up for their own lost time from the night before, Hawke and Fenris slept on, unaware and untroubled — she, lost in the Fade among bodice-ripping fantasies of him, while he found restful solace from doubts and dreams alike. The dim awareness of the other's touch held them both fast, the time marked only distantly by the gentle rise and fall of their attuned breathing.

Fenris eventually awakened first, roused by someone attempting to knock at their canvas tent flap.

"Marian?" Anders croaked, sounding rather wretched. "Can… can I trouble you for some of your elf… ugh, elfroot?"

Eyes already alert — and narrowed — Fenris quickly glanced down at himself, then over at Hawke. She was deeply asleep as usual, but her hand still rested on his bare chest, dexterous fingers clinging stubbornly to him. In turn, his hands still held her firmly at the wrist and waist, tightly enough that his fingers protested when he flexed them.

_We are just as I remember when I fell asleep, _he thought, exhaling deeply and reorienting himself, unused to the feel of awakening to so much closeness and contact. He slowly lowered his face against Hawke's open hand again, distractedly deciding that the goosedown pillows at his mansion were only the second-nicest type of pillow he'd ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

Despite the events of the night before, and Anders's quiet groaning and shuffling out front of the tent, Fenris found himself surprisingly content. _It is… different to wake up from nothing to the feel of her. It is usually the other way around. No dreams, but… no nightmares, either. In spite of everything last night, I feel… rested. _A slight pang of the guilt he'd revisited the night before echoed through him, making him wonder if he even deserved restful sleep after the things he had done, but Fenris tucked the feeling deeply away again.

He looked back to Hawke instead, taking in her peaceful, sleeping expression. _Can just being near her tranquility truly keep the nightmares away? Or is it simply because I am aware of her presence as I sleep, my mind focused somewhat instead of allowed to wander? _His gaze wandered then, attention caught by the rise and fall of Hawke's breasts, the tops of which peeked out between the partially unbuttoned folds of her shirt.

_Well… regardless, _Fenris thought, shifting his gaze back to her face again,_ I could… see myself getting used to this. No weariness, no nightmares, no… _He paused, suddenly realizing, _No pain, either. _He looked down at his bare chest again, where Hawke's fingers were pressed fully onto some of the markings that curved across his skin. _She has been touching me like this all night, so I must not have felt any additional discomfort. I would have awakened otherwise, or moved her hand away. _

It confused him, for the pain of his markings woke him sometimes even without any contact, particularly when he was feeling unguarded. As a slave, too, he often had to fight sudden surges of agony and an instinct to pull away from Danarius's touch, even if the magister had been in contact with him for long minutes or even hours. _Using me as a stool, a pillow, or admiring his handiwork for the umpteenth time…_ Fenris thought disgustedly.

Thrusting away the discomfiting memories, he focused instead for a few moments on the sensation of Hawke's hands pressed to his skin, cautiously opening his awareness to it. Though he feared the agony that always seemed to linger too close just beneath the surface, he found that he was too puzzled to leave the situation unexamined.

Yet as he mentally surveyed his body, he felt nothing more than the pressure of her touch against his skin and the slight pulse in her fingertips. He felt no discomfort at all from either of her hands, except perhaps the slight damp stickiness from warm flesh pressed on flesh for long hours in the cozy warmth of their shared tent, and no unease except the constant feeling he always had that it was just a matter of time before his past would rise up to haunt him in one way or another.

_Perhaps… _Fenris began to think cautiously.

"Marian?" Anders called piteously. "Aren't you awake yet? It's time for… brea-huuugh… breakfast."

Fenris closed his eyes in resignation as he realized he had forgotten that the mage was outside of the tent. _Venhedis… _

"Actually… urp. Hold that thought," the healer added in a rush, sounding quite poorly. "I should not have spoken of fo… food. I've got to… Uhhh…" The sound of quick footsteps faded into the distance, and after a few moments, Fenris's keen ears could just barely make out the dulcet tones of the apostate retching somewhere.

"Wonderful…" Fenris sighed quietly. Hawke stirred a little when he spoke, making a soft, sleepy coo as her fingers twitched pleasurably against his ear and his chest. It made him shift, too, and he suddenly felt he could better understand her affinity for sleeping in, for despite how rested he felt, he could see how laying there indefinitely could potentially be enjoyable.

_That insufferable apostate mentioned breakfast, however… _Fenris thought, stomach already beginning to echo the growl he wanted to make just thinking of Anders._ Perhaps we have overslept. That would better explain why I feel so rested. _Hawke's fingers stopped twitching as she fully fell back asleep, and the satisfying feel of her caresses ceased._ Yes, I should wake Hawke,_ he decided pragmatically. He began lightly kneading her side and released his grip on her wrist to reach over and stroke his thumb across her lips.

Though she responded to his touch almost immediately, her fingertips stroking him haltingly back, it took a few long moments for Hawke to awaken. _Did he just call me wonderful, _she wondered groggily,_ or was that part of my delicious dream of him, too? Ohh, but it wasn't finished yet… He was just about to take off his leggings…_

"Mmm…" she murmured sleepily, licking her lips — and inadvertently Fenris's thumb. He paused at that, and she took the opportunity to try to drift back asleep, picking her dream up where it left off. _Now take off those leggings and come to me, my gorgeous, elven god…_

"Come, Hawke," Fenris urged, hand sliding toward her hip and gently jostling her, though he was careful not to cause her hand to slide down his chest. _She is a stubborn woman, _he thought wryly as her fingers clung to him even more. He found the feel of her short nails digging into him surprisingly pleasurable, but he was determined to see her up and getting dressed regardless. He began slowly exploring her lips with his thumb again, using a feather-light touch this time.

Hawke roused once more, unable to help but lick her lips and wrinkle her nose at the tickling sensation. "_Fen-ris_…" she quietly pleaded, shifting a little, but not enough to interrupt his caress.

Fenris steeled himself against the sound of her saying his name so beseechingly and tried not to be distracted by the fleeting feel of her tongue again. "Don't 'Fenris' me, woman," he said more sternly than he felt. "You have not even opened your eyes. Come."

Torn over whether to sleep more and continue dreaming of him undressing, or to wake up to him about to dress, Hawke consoled herself thinking, _He is still shirtless, and I suppose before we get ready, I could pretend to have a stiff neck — and a stitch in my side, and a cramp in my thigh…_ Then she wavered. _But in my dream, we were getting ready to do so much more… _Then the fingers curled beneath her chin began stroking down the front of her throat, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, unable to think further.

Fenris broadly swept the pad of his thumb across Hawke's mouth, freeing her teased lip — only to find himself strangely aroused by the feel of her teeth. He put the thought away for later. "It is time to wake up," he urged. Yet he found he couldn't muster much urgency behind his words himself. _Even in this she is starting to rub off on me, _he sighed. "We have overslept again," he finally informed her, to remind himself as much as anything.

"Impossible," Hawke retorted, eyes screwing resolutely even tighter. "I could sleep for hours yet, and I haven't even heard Bartrand. It can't be morning. Maybe… maybe something just woke you up again. After all, how could _you_ have overslept, Ser Lightsleeper?" Arguments convincingly made, she burrowed deeper into her bedroll as if that settled the matter.

But her fingers seemed unable to rest and continued brushing Fenris's chest and face in a slow, steady rhythm. Indeed, Hawke found herself rousing simply from the effort of holding herself back from shifting closer to Fenris and running her hands elsewhere. _Maker, I cannot believe I still feel so… amorous, _she thought, quietly sighing in frustration._ I suppose that dream didn't help__. Settle down, Marian — let him come to you, remember?_

Fenris remained silent at the mention of his paralyzing episode, stiffening a little, though he knew full well Hawke had no way of knowing it was more than simply waking up in the middle of the night. _She does not understand, but… I cannot tell her. Besides, it… it has been a long time since that last happened, _he thought, trying not to cringe or remember the last time he had woken up to find Hadriana truly there.

_No, I do not wish to think about it,_ he decided._ Any of it. I will take steps to prevent last night from happening again. But for now, I should dress and eat. It is a far better way to occupy my time this morning._ Both Fenris's discomfort and resolve to rise guttered, however, as Hawke's fingertips brushed up and down his ear and circled across the left side of his chest.

Ruefully, Fenris thought, _She certainly seems awake enough, even if she pretends to sleep on._ He nudged against her palm as he shook his head at her early morning defiance. _She is just being… stubborn. _He thought briefly of mentioning that Anders had been by wanting her to fetch him some elfroot, but then he jealously discarded the idea in favor of their usual early morning banter.

"You may sleep in if you wish, Hawke," he warned, "but it will look very unprofessional when I have to pack the tent away and you are left lying here on your bedroll."

Hawke furrowed her brow, finding his teasing a little too like the remark that had set her off during their dinner-time spat the night before. Her hands ceased their soothing motions and she opened her eyes finally to regard Fenris a little flatly.

"Perhaps let _me_ worry about how professional I look from now on," she remarked coolly. Fenris simply regarded her in return, saying nothing, though one eyebrow began to quirk up in what Hawke found to be a little too disapproving of a fashion. "I see no need to act nor look professional in my own tent, Fenris," she added. "My tent, my rules."

"Your tent will soon be in the back of a cart, Hawke," he explained logically. "You would need to get up regardless to remain… well, under it, I suppose?"

Hawke groaned tiredly, removing her hand from his chest to rub at her forehead. "You and your early morning tent logic," she complained testily. _This man drives me insane, in more ways than one. _"Very well, have it your way…" She dislodged her other hand from under his cheek to rub grumpily at her eyes.

Fenris's hand pulled away from her lips, instinctually shying away from any accidental contact between their arms. _I do not understand how she always manages to turn these verbal victories into feeling… less than victorious, _he observed with dissatisfaction as he watched her wake up. His fingers stilled in massaging her waist, but he did not pull his hand away. _So many things I find suddenly I do not understand… _he grumbled to himself. Before he could ruminate any further on it, however, Anders finally returned.

"I'm… I'm back," the mage rasped, clearing his hoarse throat. "Maker, what a rough morning. Are you up yet, Marian? I could really go for some of your elfroot tea…" His voice trailed off with a sad whimper.

Hawke's traitorous eyes shifted away from drinking in the sight of Fenris's bare chest from between her fingers and over to the tent flaps. _Every morning, it is always something, _she thought, rolling onto her back. _First my delicious dream is interrupted, then Fenris calls me unprofessional again, and now I have a hungover Anders waiting on me to mother him. Maker, is it any wonder I prefer to sleep? _Even the feel of Fenris's fingers under her shirt laying against her stomach did not lighten her mood. "Grrrr…" she growled, feeling frustrated in just about every way she thought a woman could feel frustrated.

Fenris found the experience of hearing the low, animalistic sound from Hawke intriguing enough to ignore Anders's intrusion, especially since she seemed to direct her exasperation at the apostate for once. _Perhaps now she sees how he uses her, _he thought with satisfaction._ She should send him away to tend to himself. He is a healer, he has magic — why does he not use it?_

"I am awake, but… give me a minute, Anders," Hawke called wearily, still hoping for a few more minutes of lounging before starting the day.

"Oh… of course," Anders responded hesitantly. "I'll… just go wait on the bench, then."

_Of course, indeed. _Fenris yanked his hand away from Hawke and swiftly rose, leaning down to snatch his tunic up and pull it on. _Ingratiating, sycophantic, whiny prig of a mage, _he thought, jealousy and anger already flaring._ And yet she falls for it each time. I do not know why I am even surprised anymore…_

_Damn my luck, _Hawke thought as the fleeting sight of Fenris's bare back disappeared underneath his tunic with a quick shrug of his shoulders. "Anders is probably in pretty bad shape," she explained with a heavy sigh, sitting up slowly. "He had a _lot_ of ale last night." Not looking forward to another sunless morning, she lingered on her bedroll, stretching her arms and back a little. She cheered herself a little by unabashedly watching Fenris while he faced away from her doing up the clasps of his tunic. _Anders may be in bad shape, but Fenris's shape is quite… fine, _she thought appreciatively, fingers curling, lips pursing, and eyes squinching as she admired his rear.

Fenris did not look back at her and made no reply to her explanation about Anders, leaving off on buttoning up his tunic halfway and silently leaning down to put on his belt instead.

_Sweet Andraste… _Hawke thought as he bent over, shaking her head in slow distraction. "Buckets or bedrolls?" she finally asked, tearing her eyes from Fenris as he straightened and trying to keep herself on task for the morning since he seemed to be in a hurry. "Which would you prefer me to take care of after I brew Anders his hangover tonic?"

Fenris's eyes flicked upward irritatedly at the mage's overindulgence and her solicitousness of it. "I don't see why he doesn't just heal himself," he growled. "Is he not supposedly some vaunted healer? Let him use his precious magic, then." _That arrogant ass of a mage is always going on about magic, yet the first thing he does is come seeking Hawke to remedy the results of his own stupidity. And she, for all her trust of magic, wastes her herbs on him and lets him abuse her good nature. _

_What use she sees in that scruffy mage is beyond me__, _Fenris thought, tightly cinching his belt_. But him? Hmph_, _no, I may not understand anything about her, but I understand everything I care to about Anders…_

Hawke sighed quietly, shaking her head at Fenris's back. _Anders is probably too drained and feeling too unsteady to properly tend himself right now. And he probably just wants someone to fuss over him a little, _she thought, growing a little sentimental remembering the way her brother Carver had always moped, groaned, and slunk about the house piteously when he was feeling ill.

_But of course Fenris doesn't think of it that way_, she knew._ Anders and he… they are like a cat and dog. _She chuckled quietly to herself._ Though I suppose cat and wolf might be more appropriate, given the meaning of Fenris's name. _

"So… buckets, then?" she asked, deciding to avoid the topics of magic and Anders, and hoping to avoid another quarrel with Fenris so soon after their last one.

"As you wish, Hawke," he tersely replied, sitting back down on the bedroll, back still to her as he yanked on his gaiters.

She could hardly help but catch the undercurrent of his tone. _Sounds like he's determined to continue his mood from dinner, despite my apology, _Hawke thought with a sigh._ I suppose Anders first thing in the morning is not how he wishes to start his day either. Still, I will not be party to his brooding. I am wound up enough without adding anger to the mix. Fenris will just have to work his way towards sullenness on his own. _

"I won't be long, Fenris," she promised, forcing herself to sound more cheerful than she felt. Before moving towards the rear tent flaps, she paused to run her hand under his hair and release it from the collar of his tunic, then smooth a few errant strands down before ducking out of the back of the tent.

Fenris halted in pulling on his other gaiter, keeping his eyes closed for a few long moments after the feel of Hawke stroking her fingers against the back of his neck and through his hair faded. He pushed away a few guilty thoughts of how much he himself took advantage of her good nature in seeking comfort from her, not wanting to acknowledge the nagging feelings of emptiness and brokenness inside himself so early in the day, especially after the paralyzing trials of the night before.

_No, _he thought instead, pointedly not feeling hypocritical, and refusing to equate his own mysterious relationship with Hawke to Anders's, _surely whatever this thing between us is, it is different from her 'friendship' with that apostate. Just as he acts as though he and all mages deserve freedom simply for being 'gifted' with magic, so too does he merely act as though he deserves her attentions — whereas I am trying to understand Hawke, trying to be more attentive, trying to give something in return for all that she has done for me. It is completely different._

He could hear her rummaging through her pack on the other side of the tent canvas, then her almost-silent barefoot padding as she walked away to tend to the hungover mage. Ignoring the feeling of loneliness that closed in as the tent became empty and silent save for himself, Fenris finished pulling on his other gaiter and moved off his bedroll to roll it up.

He kept his mind away from his dark, deep, nagging wounds and focused on his closer, hotter emotions, finding them much easier to deal with. _There is no reason for this… jealousy or anger towards Hawke, _he reminded himself sternly_, not last night and not this morning. She is her own woman, and she can do as she pleases. _He had to unroll the bedroll slightly and reroll it, for he had done it crookedly in his haste. _Even if what pleases her was going off with that mage, and now tending him… _

But though Fenris told himself he claimed no ownership over Hawke, his blood burned at the thought of her talking, dancing, then roaming around the massive cavern alone with an uninhibited Anders the night before, and now her fetching and carrying for him first thing upon awakening, still looking freshly tumbled out of her bedroll.

"Hmph." Fenris bound his bedroll up tightly, then moved to Hawke's, resolutely attempting to understand her once more to make amends for his inability to control his hot swells of emotion. _Though I cannot stand him, she thinks of that scruffy apostate as a 'friend.' No doubt it is mostly because of her sister, _he tried to reason. Hawke's heat and scent radiated up to him from the still-warm cloth of her bedroll as he rolled it up, but it calmed him little. _Bethany and Anders both hide from the Templars, have no one but Hawke to rely on, and they are both… fond of her, _he thought, though he soon grew irritated again._ Though Anders is entirely too fond of Hawke, despite her assumption that he cares for Bethany. It is a pity that Hawke does not see it for herself, though truly, her sister is better off for it. _Fenris carefully tied Hawke's bedroll up, pitying Bethany a little for the many unfortunate circumstances in her life.

_Hawke probably pities Anders, too, because of her father's history, _he began to surmise, thinking on pity._ She said at The Hanged Man that she felt even that abomination deserved to be… 'happy and loved.' Hmph, well… she probably compares his apostasy to her father's. She seems to have a weakness for those who are in hiding, no doubt from her own family's experiences. _Again Fenris did not extend the same rational to his own relationship with Hawke. Though a few questions flashed briefly in his mind, they were gone quickly for he was in no mood to ponder it, nor to compare his situation to Anders's.

_But even if Hawke barely knew Anders, she would likely help him anyway, _he thought with sour resignation._ She is always getting herself involved in everything. Since I have met her, she has been constantly embroiled in the affairs of others. _It made him grit his teeth a little just thinking about all the places he had followed her and the strange events she seemed to get involved in._ No, her affinity for… adventure? Turmoil? That I truly do not understand…_

As he brooded to himself in this fashion, Fenris distractedly went about getting ready for the day. Though by the time he heard Hawke returning a short while later he felt he had made no progress in understanding her at all, perhaps understanding her a bit _less_ if anything, he had otherwise accomplished much. He had placed the bedrolls behind the tent, brought their packs inside, dug Hawke's coinpurse out of her pack and placed her two sovereigns in it, then had even put Hawke's shoes away for her.

As she lingered near the benches checking on Anders and giving him his tea, Fenris decided to pull out and neatly stack her armor, thinking it was only practical since he had needed to shift the contents of her pack anyway to return her coin and shoes to their proper places. _It will speed up getting us to breakfast, _he reasoned grimly. _And it is… something I can do for her. _He nodded to himself in satisfaction, then could not help but add, _Since she is busy seeing to other matters. _Then, sighing to himself over his inability to control his resentment, he hesitated for only a moment before drawing her armored skirt from her pack.

Straightening out the strips of leather that made up the skirt, he brushed his fingers across them and somewhat inadvertently revealed the short leather britches underneath. They came to just above mid-thigh when Hawke was wearing her armor, as he well knew. _I imagine this would be very practical and comfortable for a woman, even in a climate as hot as Seheron's, _Fenris observed, shaking the skirt out and watching the familiar way everything swayed and moved. _Leggings would probably provide more protection but… if she prefers this, then what she finds suitable is what is more important._

He set the skirt aside and drew out her studded leather cuirass, holding it out to inspect it with a keen, critical eye. _It is indeed wearing in nicely, and she keeps it reasonably well-maintained. It is a very close fit on her, which is… good, _he judged with a nod._ It does not impede her fighting like her old armor did. She was always fidgeting with it and tugging on it, so it was wise of her to find something less bulky to fit her… figure. _His eyes traced along the sides of the cuirass, its rigid leather forming the same outline as Hawke's own shapely silhouette. _Expensive, probably, but… a wise investment, _he thought approvingly.

He set it aside too and gathered together the rest of Hawke's things, setting out her underpadding, vambraces, belt, sheathed daggers, gloves, and boots. As he undid the top few buckles of her boots for her, he felt his lips twitching with a smile as he thought of his vambraces — particularly their black feather ornamentation. _Knee-high boots suit her well, though doubtless her knees could probably use a little extra protection… especially the sensitive backs of them…_

"I know it's got a lot of honey in it, but drink _all _of it, Anders," Hawke called sternly, pausing out front of the tent. "The sugar will give you some strength. Then just… sit there and try to eat your porridge, all right? I will take care of returning your dishes to Bodahn and packing away your tent after I have my breakfast."

Fenris heard no reply from Anders, who he figured was too busy clutching his head and wallowing selfishly to be courteous to Hawke. _I do not know why she coddles that mage, _he thought again angrily, standing to face the tent flaps as Hawke entered. As she backed into the tent with their buckets of cool washwater, he indeed caught a glimpse of the apostate slumped on his bench doing exactly as he had thought. Fenris flicked his eyes up in contempt, displeased all over again despite his careful efforts get better control of himself while Hawke was gone.

_A mage will always take advantage, _he thought resentfully,_ especially that one. He wishes freedom for mages, claiming things will be different 'this time' — yet already he acts just as entitled as the magisters… _He shook his head slowly. _Hmph. It never ends._

A smile dimpled Hawke's cheeks as she set down the buckets and noticed the orderly assemblage of her armor laid out in the far corner. _Fenris set out everything for me to dress? How sweet! _she thought delightedly. _Though now I feel rather badly for assuming he was determined to brood this morning… _

She glanced up at Fenris and clasped his right hand between both of hers, beaming at him even though he still stared at the closed tent flaps."You've been busy while I was away. How very thoughtful." She squeezed his hand a little, smiling deeper when he looked down at their joined hands and squeezed back.

_I could actually do with __less __thinking this morning, _Fenris thought sourly, trying not to flex his hands into fists as he shoved away his jealous feelings again. _I feel like a fool. Why can I not control this… anger?_ Though he made an effort to keep his dark mood out of his tone, he rather gruffly said, "I just thought this might help speed things along. We are running behind, and you are… busy this morning."

_Aww, my ever practical Fenris…_ she thought. Hawke began to lift his hand to kiss it, but he was still looking away and pulled it from her grasp as he leaned down to move his bucket further into the front corner near his pack.

She backed away to give Fenris room to pass, regarding him for a few moments, her disappointment at the lost opportunity to kiss his hand giving way to distractedness for his chest. Since he still had his tunic halfway undone, pragmatically waiting to wash up first before doing up the remainder of the clasps, his wolf pendant dangled freely as he crouched. She also caught a glimpse of his chest markings, which made her sorry all over again that they'd had to get out of bed.

_Maker, I will have to remember to encourage him to sleep shirtless again tonight, _she thought, rather numbly standing there watching him._ Perhaps that should be a new tent rule — yes, hmm, perhaps I could… even set the example. It __has__ been getting warm in here lately… _She began to positively abuse her lower lip remembering the sight of him laid out sleeping shirtless the night before and the feel of his hands massaging her bare skin from yesterday morning.

_I really should get ready and go get breakfast, _she scolded herself,_ but, Maker, what I wouldn't give for a second helping of those delights. These cravings are getting quite intense… _Despite her actual hunger, she only snapped herself out of her reverie when Fenris glanced at her suspiciously over his shoulder.

_She was quick enough to leave and tend Anders, _he thought, jealousy flashing hot once again, _yet_ _now she simply stands here after I have set everything out for her in readiness? Is she not as ready to eat as I am? Need I remind her every morning that I am hungry?_

Even though he growled an impatient sigh, Hawke admired the markings alongside his neck for a moment before his grim expression and disapprovingly drawn down eyebrows soon sufficiently sobered her. _Hmm, perhaps he is still under a bit of a black cloud for some reason, _she thought._ His markings, or me waking him up last night, if I had to wager a guess. Or perhaps my apology was not enough? _She sighed. _Andraste's burned brown bonnet, I had thought last night to talk to him about all of that this morning, but… now might not be the best time, _she decided.

Fenris turned away with another rather growly sigh, so hoping to mollify him a little, Hawke conceded, "I'm sorry, I guess I am dawdling again, just as you always say."

"Hmph." _Well, at least she recognizes it, _he thought, pushing his hair out of his face. He began to scrub up while trying yet again to shove down his ire.

Hawke cleared her throat as she went to dig through her pack for her soap, then kept her tone light, hoping to brighten Fenris's mood with a little humor. "Yes, I had better get a move on. After yesterday morning, I don't want Bartrand storming in here to drag me out by the ankle, calling me a 'nughumper…'"

She waited expectantly for Fenris to chuckle or comment or make any sort of a reply, splashing and lathering up her hands and face in the meantime. Then the silence began to stretch as she scrubbed behind her ears and neck, so she continued. "Though more likely, he'd send Varric to do it — if he can even find him this morning."

She quickly continued to wash up, soon glancing over her shoulder across the tent at Fenris, for he still did not respond. _Not even interested in a little gossip about his card partner? Something must be on his mind indeed. _"Varric's already awake this morning, hiding behind the mess tent," she nudged conversationally, rinsing her face off. "Swapping stories with Bodahn and avoiding Bartrand and all his tasks."

The tent grew silent once more except for the sound of Fenris's quiet splashing. _I am acting little better than that mage, _he thought darkly, thinking of how Anders had just discourteously remained silent when Hawke addressed him before entering the tent. _I should be trying harder. I am better than this — and I am certainly better than that arrogant abomination._

Fenris finally replied, "Is he? I… see," attempting to go along with Hawke's efforts to engage him in polite conversation. Though they kept their backs to each other as they washed up and readied, he'd easily heard the eagerness and encouragement in her voice as she offered the gossip. He searched for a few moments, trying to think of what else he could say to make small talk, but his mind went disconcertingly blank. _Fasta vass, I can hardly leave it at 'I see.' Yet 'Umm…' is little better…_

He then recalled his own eagerness from the night before, when he had wanted to tell Hawke about his victory at cards. _I suppose I could make the effort now, since last night I was… not at my best. And she was not here… _

"I am surprised Varric is not worse off than… Anders," Fenris added slowly, only slightly bitter when saying the apostate's name. "The dwarf was quite intent on his ales last night… and he had plenty of time, once I swiftly bested him and left him to think on his defeat."

Delighted at the slight swagger in his voice and amused at his proud yet casual mention of his victory, Hawke gave a small laugh. "Oh-ho, so, you were the _victor_, then!" she said solicitously, hoping to flatter him into a better mood again. _I'm so glad he enjoys Wicked Grace. And I love when he gets competitive… nothing is more alluring than a self-confident man, and Fenris is already quite something to begin with._

"Indeed, I was," he stated confidently. "He did not stand a chance."

The cocky smile Fenris had already started smiling to himself at thinking of his win deepened a little as Hawke giggled appreciatively in response. He did not have to hide his amusement, with his back to her and under his towel as he was, trying to wring out all the locks of hair that had fallen forward and gotten wet as he washed. _I may have returned her two gold, but her laugh is a fine prize. I find I quite enjoy it when she… giggles. _He was gratified that usually only he could elicit them from her, too.

Hawke smiled, shaking her head in fond amusement of him herself as she patted her face dry. "I admit, I kept wondering last night how your game was going," she said amiably, "though naturally I never doubted you." Then she paused rather pointedly and glanced over her shoulder at his back. "Despite your _cruel_ dismissal of me last night."

Smile evaporating, Fenris thought irritatedly, _Venhedis, why must she bring that back up? _He did not want to revisit any of the disagreeable events of the evening before, struggling enough to stop thinking on them on his own._ Have I not apologized already? Can she let nothing go? Women…  
_

He made a disgruntled sigh from under his towel as he dried himself, so Hawke left it at that, content to have landed a teasing, glancing blow as a reminder to him against future slanders against her. "But then I came in here to bed down for the night," she continued, "and found someone had left me two rather cold, hard sovereigns in the middle of my bedroll." She had unbuttoned her shirt as she spoke, then hesitated.

_Well, he did set my armor out for me, and I do need to get dressed, _she reasoned._ And his back is to me. And, well, so what if he sees my underthings? He has already seen my breastband, and we are both healthy adults in the privacy of our own tent, _she thought with a sniff._ Besides, I have gone swimming in nothing but my underthings — many times in fact. No big deal. _She still glanced back at Fenris before shrugging out of her shirt and quickly donning her underpadding. _You almost owe him a good long look, after all the ogling you did of him last night, Marian, _she scolded herself as she leaned forward to gather up more armor.

Fenris remained pointedly silent on the matter of the two sovereigns, though he ran his thumb across the palm of his right hand, which actually felt a little bruised from the way he had savagely crushed the coins in his anger._ I was taken by surprise, and I was not myself last night, _he told himself, remembering throwing the coins down on her bedroll._ There was no reason for my anger or jealousy, and situation has since been remedied. I apologized, and I even placed the coin into her coinpurse for her. There is no use dwelling on it further._

Hawke quietly pulled on her cuirass, wriggling into the close-fitting armor and tugging at the side straps to make it even tighter. "I remember thinking," she finally continued, "'Coin on my bed? That's odd, I do not remember losing all of my teeth. But I suppose the Tooth Spirit knows what he's about, and I do not have a pillow to tuck it under, after all…'"

Fenris threw his towel aside and began doing up the remaining frogs of his tunic, brow furrowing deeply as he looked back at her. He immediately looked away again as she stood and began sliding out of her rumpled grey pants. _Festis bei umo canavarum…_ He firmly decided not to torment himself with the sight of her, and he knew for certain he did not wish to discuss the reason behind the coin being on her bedroll in the first place.

"What is… a 'Tooth Spirit'?" he asked instead, tone dubious as he spoke over the jingling of her slipping into her armored skirt.

Hawke paused thoughtfully before she strapped her belt on, suddenly realizing that slaves in the Imperium would not likely have any coin to give to their children when they lost a tooth. "It's… it's just a silly children's fable. Never mind," she hesitantly replied. She finished buckling her belt, then sat on the floor to pull on her boots. "But, do let me congratulate you on your win, ser victor. You should be proud of your achievement. I certainly am."

Her unexpected praise gave him pause. _She is more gracious than I have been, _he thought, frowning at himself._ And I am hardly proud of the way I have been thinking and acting_. Hearing her boot buckles and figuring that Hawke was now mostly dressed, Fenris turned around to his haphazard pile of armor and began putting on his chestplate and pauldrons.

"I could not have done it without your instruction," he said, trying to sound gracious himself. "And your information about Varric's lucky… _earring_ did prove useful." He paused to rub at his own ear, face screwing up at the thought of a heavy, metal ring constantly pinching at it.

Hawke quietly smiled to herself as she finished dressing. _I hope Varric didn't go easy on him the way he does with me. You can never tell with him… but Fenris is remarkably good at Wicked Grace, especially for a beginner. Who knows? Regardless, I am glad he seems to be enjoying himself a little for a change. _"Just glad I could help in some small way, Fenris," she said affectionately, watching him do up the straps of his armor as she stood and began to brush her hair.

_She has helped me so often, _Fenris thought disconsolately, _and in more than in just this, or in some small way. _He adjusted his armor and brushed his hair out of his eyes, reminded then to retrieve his comb. He began to tug it distractedly and haphazardly through his hair, not bothering to dig his bit of mirror out of his pack.

_Perhaps I should just apologize to her again, _he thought, keen to make amends and put his uncontrollable emotions behind him. He faced Hawke, staring distantly at her boots as he tried to think of a better apology than the one he had already given. But he still felt unsettled, and after a few long moments of searching, couldn't think of anything appropriate. _My apologies become… meaningless if I continue to say the same thing, yet repeat my errors, _he grumbled. Then he remembered Varric's words urging him to tell Hawke of his plans and indebtedness to her. _Yes, perhaps that would better to tell her, since my actions seem to reflect it so poorly, _he decided._ Until I have put this anger to rest, I can at least give her that, acknowledging the debt I owe her and giving her the assurance she seems to want._

Fenris continued to pluck at his hair, though he closed his eyes as he tried to find the right words for once. "You have helped more than you know, Hawke," he began. He hoped his tone conveyed he meant far more than just learning Wicked Grace from her. "I… do not know how to repay you," he admitted. "But… however long it takes… I will find a way." Then, despite himself, he found it impossible not to apologize once more. "And again, I am sorry for last night."

_I know how you can repay me, Fenris… _Hawke thought amorously as she watched him, unable to resist as a sudden heat flushed through her and drew her eyes down half-lidded. Between admiring his unassuming, casual grace, thinking of her dream, and remembering the sight of him the night before, she found herself feeling quite forgiving indeed. _And I hope you aren't sorry about __**all**__ of last night. _

She quietly continued to stroke her brush, finding herself wishing it was his fingers raking through her hair instead, the first of many wishes she began to make. All of her frustrations seemed to fade away as she thought of finding ways the two of them could make up for the previous night later that night. _I promise you, Fenris, _she wanted to say_, I will make it worth your while to put up with me_._ I think you will come to enjoy me being reckless and unprofessional at times… _

_Silence… _he thought with a defeated sigh, blinking his eyes open to stare at her feet. _I… must have worded it poorly. Or perhaps I cannot make her understand what I cannot understand myself. _He began to wonder how to remedy this new conundrum and risked a glance at her — only to catch her gazing intently at him. His hand paused in combing as their eyes met. _Yet… the way she is looking at me…_

Hawke froze as well._ Andraste's squirrely eyebrows, I have been caught… _She scrambled to come up with a good excuse for staring. "Your… your hair has started getting a little long, Fenris," she noted, seizing on the obvious. She raised her hand to her own hair and turned her head to pretend she was still fussing with it, though she hoped the dimness in the tent could hide the furious blush on her cheeks.

Fenris blinked a few times, looking away too, surprised at the change in topic. "Umm… Yes, I… suppose it has," he admitted haltingly, running his hand down the back of his head. "I have not bothered to cut it in some weeks. It is somewhat… difficult to do on my own." _And hardly a priority while I was being chased by my former master…_

He rubbed his hand against his neck, feeling at the collar of his tunic and realizing that indeed his hair had begun to grow down to it. He was not used to anyone else noticing but himself, and he usually just hacked at it whenever it started to bother him, content otherwise to let it be. _No one looks at me any differently regardless of the length of my hair, _he thought. _All they see are the ears, the armor, the sword… and, of course, the markings…_

"I can do it, if you like," Hawke offered easily, tucking her brush away and moving over to take Fenris's comb from his hand. She was glad of something to distract him from her staring, distract her from fantasizing about him, and of course, to have an excuse to touch him. "I always used to cut Father and Carver's hair — and I have tried to cut my own, so… I know how hard it can be."

Fenris remained motionless, still puzzled — by the way she had stared, by her sudden observation about his hair, and by her coming over to assist him. He also found himself lingering to simply enjoy the scent and nearness of her. _I truly am becoming used to this, _he thought, curious about that as much as anything.

Seeing from the blank look on his face that Fenris was becoming successfully diverted, Hawke began to fuss over him a bit, placing her fingers on both sides of his jaw and turning his head a little. "Mother does not really have an eye for such things," she explained, "and Bethany was always too scared she'd make a mistake. So… it eventually fell to me to tend to everyone." She smiled fondly as she inspected Fenris's hair, finding it very attractive even though it had indeed grown shaggier over the past few weeks. _Still so devastatingly handsome, though, _she lamented, knowing her weakness for him was growing far faster.

Fenris's eyes went half-lidded at the feel of her fingers on his face again. _I should not let her do even more for me, _he thought. _I do not feel as though I deserve what attentions she gives me already. _"I… have always managed on my own before, Hawke," he said with resignation, though whether he was resigned to taking care of himself or already resigned to eventually giving in to her, even he did not know.

Hawke shook her head and began to comb his hair out, already envisioning where snips were needed to neaten his hair back up to a more comfortable length for the high collar of his tunic. "Just because you can do a thing for yourself doesn't mean you should have to, Fenris," she chided absentmindedly. She carefully cupped his ear as she combed his hair over it to check the length. _His hair feels like silk, and it is so thick! _she marveled._ I am almost envious — but I suppose I do get to run my fingers through it now sometimes._ "Besides… I, too, get something out of this," she added, smiling distantly and keeping her eyes on her delightful task.

"Oh?" he asked, curious but distracted by the feel of her entire hand caressing his ear. "And… what is that?" His eyes fully closed as she cradled his cheek while gently teasing out a few tangles. Her ministrations were both unexpected and unexpectedly tender, and he found he had not been prepared for them at all. _Always she slips in under my guard…_

"I find it immensely pleasurable to be of help," Hawke murmured, looking at his combed out hair for a moment before focusing on making him as perfectly handsome and presentable for the day as possible. "Besides, trimming hair is a good way to keep in practice with a steady hand when using my sharp scissors. I am a rogue, after all." She quickly patted at her belt pouch, where her small pair of shears for disarming traps was tucked away. _Ooo, good one, Marian_, she congratulated herself on her excuse. _Fenris will think that very practical._

_Her touch… her scent… her warmth, _Fenris thought, mind wandering a little. _I do not deserve her attentions this morning, not after continuing to think so unkindly towards her. She is her own woman… just as I am trying to be my own man. Yet, as always, I find I can no longer simply pull away._ Giving in, he bowed his head as she continued to slowly comb around to the back of his hair. His eyes still closed, he was too preoccupied with the sensation of being groomed to dissemble that he did not need her assistance. _Such tenderness, such generosity, such… affection, _he thought, heart both straining and aching as he was reminded of the Fog Warriors' generous, warm and affectionate ways with one another, and how they had slowly started to include him before Danarius had returned to claim him.

_She reminds me so strongly of them, _he sighed,_ always reaching out to squeeze a shoulder or pat another on the back. Always looking to lend a hand, to help those around her persevere, all while trying to make others… happy._ As she stroked him into a languorous calm, Fenris began to feel unsteady on his feet, so reached across and placed his hands on her waist to keep himself from falling into her. Though she now wore her armor and belt, he still found the feel of holding her familiar and steadying, in more ways than one.

With Hawke's soothing touch to keep the guilt and sadness at bay, Fenris found he was able to think fondly of the rebels he had killed instead of merely focusing on the horror of the end of his time with them._ The Fog Warriors had enemies on both sides, so they did everything they could for one another, _he remembered. _Rather than let their struggles wear them down, they embraced it, laughed with it, used it to bring their band closer. Just as their ways were beyond my experience… so, too, are hers, _he knew._ Yet just as with the Fog Warriors, I feel I could… learn something from her, gain something rare and precious. They wanted nothing from me — they wanted for me to heal, to have my freedom, to join them if I wished it. But… I still do not know what it is that Hawke wants of me._

Hawke's pulse thrilled at the feel of Fenris's strong hands on her waist again, but she was cautious not to draw nearer after the incident with his vambraces from a few mornings past. Instead she tended him with his comb, cupping the side of his face with her free hand, content just to look at him looking so calm and peaceful. _I remember buying this comb__, _she thought warmly_,__ tucking it into his housewarming basket,__ then taking it to his mansion. That night, I would never have dreamed I would get to do this myself. And yet… here we are._

Fenris temporarily relinquished the puzzle that was he and Hawke again as her hand caressed his cheek, her open, giving tenderness brought to the forefront of his mind. _But just as the Fog Warriors were, Hawke too is always so… free. Bold. Affectionate. I have at times called it recklessness, and I have pulled away from it so often, have even tried to warn her away from it, but… in truth, it is because I am too much of a coward to do half so much as she. She makes it look easy but… it isn't. Not for me. I suppose in the end, I was… not strong enough for the Fog Warriors either, though. _

He felt suddenly inadequate and small as he stood before Hawke, the weakness of lacking courage and any semblance of normalcy threatening to bow him even further down and topple him as surely as the drowsy feeling of her tenderly combing his hair._ I am a coward and a fool… _he thought, slumping a little more forward as he felt Hawke combing the hair out of his eyes. _I know much about some things, yet almost nothing at all about what truly matters_. _It is no wonder I feel that I owe her so much. Even as I try to repay her I am leaning on her, looking to her to teach me, wanting her to show me how to live, seeking her comfort, needing her…_

The final thought brought him up short, jarring Fenris, and he nearly lost his balance save for his steadying grip on Hawke. _I… I need her? _he thought again, some piece of the puzzle of what lay between them fitting into place even as he numbly examined whether or not it made sense. _She has said she needs me, and I can see how my assistance has helped her, but otherwise I take her at her word that she could not do just as easily with one of the others in my stead_._ But where would I be without her? I have no one else. __Her assistance has assuredly helped me, but… could I have done without it_? Could I now do without it? Could I do without… her? 

But as he wondered about it, Fenris found he couldn't really think it through logically, since he saw no reason why he should have to do without Hawke. _The Fog Warriors turned away no one who wanted to join their cause, needing whatever aid they could get. So too would turning Hawke away now make little sense, especially in light of what I feel I could learn from her, to say nothing of what I owe her already. But… is that need? I… I do not know._ Again he began to feel inadequate and foolish, for becoming so easily confused, having so few answers, and having little to offer Hawke beyond his swordarm and so often, silence.

Since his eyes were closed and he remained quiet, Hawke unabashedly admired Fenris again as she slowly combed his hair, distantly daydreaming about being able to do far more for him soon. _I would be happy to soothe away all of his cares, every morning and night, _she thought lovingly, enjoying the feel of his cheek and the way he leaned on her._ When he is ready, I will give him anything he wants or needs to be always content._

"I will always appreciate your help, Hawke," Fenris finally said, a little surprised at himself when he realized how earnestly he'd managed to say it. He hoped she could hear in his voice that he meant much more than just a haircut, since he did not feel he could adequately convey himself in words. He blinked his eyes open to look at her, wanting to take some bold action to prove he was still worthy of the brave Fog Warriors' memory and of her aid, despite his shortcomings.

But as his eyes found hers and Fenris saw Hawke's warmly adoring gaze, he suddenly felt more than worthy, the strength of her emotions clear to him even if he could not read or understand what they were. She halted mid-stroke in combing his hair when he caught her staring again, but they both ignored everything else as they continued to look at one another in the relative darkness for a moment. Then, distractedly letting the comb tumble aside to land in Fenris's open pack beside his feet, Hawke pressed her other hand against his cheek.

"I promise you, you shall always have my help, Fenris," she replied, just as earnestly.

Hawke stared up into Fenris's green eyes, struck once again by his weighty gaze, of the vast strength, courage, and determination it held, but also the pain, confusion, and doubt that ran deep within. _I would help you with anything, _she thought, willing her eyes to reflect it. _Anything from a haircut to Danarius and everything in between, Fenris. I could do no less. I find myself more in love with you by the hour, despite our silly arguments and changing moods and being down here surrounded by everyone else in this dark, strange place…_

At her deepening gaze, Fenris felt strangely paralyzed again in a way he found even more disconcerting than terror. _The way she looks at me, the way she speaks my name, the way her words always slip under my guard… _His normal urge to pull away was absent, but he was also growing too shaken to continue being pinned by her gaze. _Is that… what I see? A desire to help? She said that she needed me, but… she wants to help me, too? _

He broke their gaze and stared distantly at Hawke's lips as his mind turned her promise over and over, fleeting thoughts of the past, of how it could have been, of having Hawke beside him through any number of the trials he had faced alone before. Then they gave way to flashes of what his life could be. _I would be at her side whenever she needed my aid, but… to have her at my side whenever I needed hers?_ He wondered again what kinds of things he might not be able to do without her, soon coming to the one thing he knew for certain he needed above all. _She truly means to help me kill Danarius, _Fenris thought._ At my mansion, those were not just… empty words. _He continued to focus on Hawke's lips, still unable to meet her gaze again, but he suddenly wondered if she had as earnestly meant all her other words, too, the ones he dared not think of or hope would be repeated.

"I…" Fenris looked aside, immediately forgetting what he was going to say even as he began to say it. Feeling too overwhelmed to continue, it was almost a relief when long, soft, untangled white strands of hair fell forward to shield his eyes. Yet Hawke's hands did not release his face as he turned it away — and he did not release her waist. _Her promises have been direct, _he thought, _yet her other words have always been so cunning, so clever, slipping under my guard, aimed deep — and yet that is very like her. Truly, she is a rogue at heart. _He briefly thought of his own warrior's style, blunt, fierce, controlled, and relentless, wondering if it, too, spoke to his own deeper nature.

_I do not know what to say, _he realized after a moment of silent introspection._ So many words she has spoken, yet it feels as if I have none. And after her promise yesterday, after she said how highly she, too, values such promises, values keeping them… For her to make another promise, and one such as this…_

"You… are very bold with your words, Hawke," Fenris finally said, still looking aside and down, staring distantly at the comb laying on his pack. He thought about how the pack and everything in it, aside from his armor, silk shirts, and bottles of wine, had been given to him by Hawke. _She has given me so much already, and yet she continues to give more… and I do not understand. Not how she finds so much to give, not how she knows what to give, not how she finds it so easy, nor why she cares. Not why she needs me, wants me, nor why it seems I… I need her._

_Well done, Marian, _Hawke thought as she considered Fenris's words, regarding the quiet way he was looking away. _You have embarrassed yourself again, and Fenris, too. _She chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to think of a way to make her promise seem less ardent. Her thumbs continued to stroke his cheeks, though, and a declaration of love threatened to spill out of her regardless.

"Fenris, I… I…" She felt the need to speak and speak quickly, but she struggled, for once unable to think of something else to say, an apology to make, or any way to divert Fenris again as words of love tangled her tongue instead. So, she closed her mouth and convinced herself it was not an appropriate time, place, or occasion to tell him.

_He is not even looking at me, and we are running late as it is, and I would probably wind up trying to throw myself into his arms, making his markings go off and forcing him to retreat again, _she nervously rambled to herself._ No, that would be a poor way to tell him. And I could not bear it if I pushed him away by telling him this, this of all things. _

She fleetingly thought of all the opportunities she'd missed with John, neglecting to tell him how she felt until it was entirely too late. _But Fenris… he is… not like most men, however, _she cautiously reasoned. _No, surely this… this is different_. She felt a pang of guilt over the memory her first love, and in comparing him to Fenris, and it proved to be enough to sink her declaration back down deep. _Oh Maker, I have been and still am such a fool…_

"I… am not as bold as I seem, Fenris," Hawke finally said. She released his face and rested her hands against his chestplate instead, unable to drop her hands out of consideration for not touching his arms while he still held her waist. _I cannot embrace him or kiss him, so how could I tell him that I love him? _she thought, turning her head away and staring distantly in the opposite direction. _I always say I do not want to rush him… but it would be rushing him to go and tell him something like that._

_Is this why I have been so uncertain? _Fenris wondered. _Is it because I want her and I need her, where I have never wanted or needed another before? _He searched his abbreviated memory, unable to find anything but the opposite, of wanting and needing to escape from others, fleeing from and hiding from so many, avoiding just about everyone else. _How do I even know, _he asked himself,_ when I can remember nothing of feeling this before, when I know nothing of this? I have relied on no one but myself for three years. And before, when I couldn't… when I didn't… I did not repay the Fog Warriors well. _He felt the familiar fear that he would somehow wind up paying Hawke in kind, her kindness resulting in her death as surely as the betrayed rebels, her blood on his hands regardless of whether he himself did it or Danarius or the hunters did.

_I don't want to be selfish, _Hawke thought firmly_, not with Fenris, not when he must have had nothing as a slave. He needs time to get over his aversion to touch, to figure out whatever it is that is going on with his markings, to realize that he should stay whether Danarius returns in a year or not. He doesn't need me pressuring him or rushing him, especially not by laying my heart at his feet! But, Maker, if I know all this, why is it so hard to stand by my resolve for long around him?_

Fenris glanced at Hawke, hoping to find reassurance or answers in her eyes again, but he found her face turned away. He noticed, too, how she hunched inward and kept herself at a careful distance, even as he held her by the waist. _Always so mindful of me, always so reluctant now, _he thought, looking down as familiar regrets and disappointments washed through him. _It is all because of me. Because I do not know what I am doing. This… this is too dangerous. I cannot do this, I am too broken to understand her._

_Maker, _Hawke swore, upbraiding herself, _if there's something I truly need to say to Fenris, it's to ask how he is holding up down here, ask about his lyrium talent, tell him what it and his touch do to me__, reassuring him that I trust him__. I should be making sure that I am not making him uncomfortable, and finding out where he wants this… wants us to go — not running heedless into things and assuming he feels the same. _Once again, her desire to spill out her feelings was squeezed off by competing strong memories, of Fenris's glowing, humming hands on her throat, of him trying to apologize for his markings going off, of her touching his bare chest the night before, and of him struggling to control his lyrium talent and sending her to away. She quietly stared into the distance, chewing worriedly and distractedly on her lip.

_Yet if I am too broken, _Fenris thought as he found he could not simply make himself release Hawke, _then why do I keep returning to this? To her? If it is so dangerous, then why do I not have the instinct to leave it behind now? No, the reason I don't know what I am doing is because of Danarius. This is simply more of that fear and worthlessness he tried to instill in me to make me… compliant. Venhedis, would that I could rid myself of his influence, of these doubts, of all these twisted ideas those magisters planted inside me_…

In his growing frustration and though he had been constantly fighting it since the previous night, Fenris began to grow angry yet again — only this time, he directed it all inward. _How I tire of feeling these fears, this self-pity, this weakness! Did I learn nothing last night? Have I learned nothing these past three years? _His face, still warm from the heat of Hawke's hands, seemed to burn hot as he reminded himself of everything he owed the Fog Warriors, Hawke, and the revenge he owed Danarius for causing him such miseries. _I am no longer some cringing slave. Danarius wanted me to be a coward so I would fight only for him. But __now I fight for myself, and for Hawke. Why should I let him influence me any longer? No — I said I would endeavor to be better than this — and I shall._  


As the flash of rage evaporated away his fears, sudden determination flooded past in its wake. Fenris drew upon all the resolve he had built up for two nights, when he had decided to try harder, to be better, to shake off the shackles of fear, cowardice, and the magisters' influence, to fully honor the Fog Warriors' sacrifice and to use the reprieve he had been given in the Deep Roads from the hunters to try to learn how to live. _Hawke has offered me much, and I have taken what she has already given, _he reminded himself._ Why should I not take more? It would all feel so __right__. It always does. _His chest swelled and strained against the confines of his metal chestplate, aching for the feel of Hawke's touch without the separation of armor again, and he ran his fingertips over her armor, remembering the feel of her bare skin beneath his hands. _Yes. I am a free man, and I should act as such. I am wasting precious time this morning. _He looked back at Hawke, taking in her concerned profile.

_Let him come to you, Marian, _she thought firmly, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself. _Just remember that we have nothing but time, that there is no rush. Especially not down here in the Deep Roads. Fenris isn't going anywhere… right?_

_The way she was looking at me…_ Fenris thought, growing heated and resolute. He tightened his grip on her waist, needing her to look at him again, wanting to catch her unguarded, ready to prove to himself and her that he, too, could be bold._ Whether I understand it or not, I want and need whatever it is I see in her eyes…_

Hawke turned her attention back to him just as he had hoped, and obliquely, they caught each others' gaze once more. Fenris looked intently this time, not flinching away from what he saw as he tried to decipher what was in her eyes — though he soon noted with dark pleasure how Hawke's expression suddenly went bashful. ___Her lowered eyes and hesitant lips…_ he thought hungrily. _Despite wishing she need not make allowances for me, despite wishing I had not made her fear me, I find I relish seeing her like this, for no coward could ever make this fearless woman look that way…_

_Maker's breath, _Hawke thought, frozen as she glanced askance at him, like a hare hoping to be overlooked by a prowling wolf. _He looks so determined again. I… I didn't say something reckless out loud without realizing it, did I? _She began blinking and looking around in uncertainty, catching her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from talking, just in case, as she tried to think back.

"You worry too much," Fenris said, trying to make his voice sound teasing, though he wound up growling it out a little dangerously. He began to smile deeply at Hawke's startled reaction as she released her teased lip, transfixed by whatever she saw in his gaze.

_Andraste's great heaving bosoms, _Hawke thought weakly,_ he sounds and looks almost as amorous as I feel… _

_I bore her touch on my chest all night without pain, _Fenris thought boldly, arms already beginning to tense, _and even what little pain I felt initially faded so quickly. _He thought of his desires of the past few days and nights, of not wasting time, living as a free man does, and drawing her close without fear.

_I have a far better mastery of my lyrium talent now, _he convinced himself,_ and I can prevent what has happened before. Even if not, even if my markings light, yesterday she did not seem… phased by it. _He found himself growing so resolved and certain that he did not wonder that he could make a joke of it, where in days past he would have found nothing amusing about his markings at all. _She is rubbing off on me and __I am growing used to her, _he thought with a mixture of satisfaction and affection_. __ She is different, and each day becomes easier. Surely with my armor on, with her armor on, with only our arms bare, we could… I could…_

Even as his desire built to try to embrace Hawke again, the sounds of boots approached and there was another flaccid knock at their tent flaps. "Marian? Can… I trouble you for a lyrium potion now?" Anders asked. "I drank all my tea and I think… I think if I just had some mana, I could heal the rest of this away…"

Immediately and taking all his determination with it, Fenris's smile fled, turning to a scowl as his eyes slanted away to the tent flaps. _Who does that mage think he is, coming to my tent repeatedly and addressing Hawke alone, as if I do not exist? _he thought hotly. _What if I were not here? What if she was alone in here, still dressing? Would he even stop at the tent flaps, or would he simply barge in?__ Arrogant, rude, insulting ass of mage!_

"Of course, Anders," Hawke said distractedly, not able to look away from Fenris even as he looked away, still in a daze as she was from his heated glance and words. "Just… give me a moment, again… please."

"By all the Old Gods," Fenris growled under his breath, glancing back at her. Already knowing from her words that she tolerated the interruption, he dropped his hands away from her waist, making them into hard fists._ And she? She lets him get away with it, every time, _he snarled to himself. Body already tensed from working towards embracing Hawke, Fenris felt himself go even tighter, starting to quiver from the effort of holding himself back from charging out of the tent at Anders. _I need to get out of here… but no, I refuse to leave him alone with her._

Hawke drew in a quick breath, shaking herself from her amorous trance as Fenris began to pace angrily around the back of their tent. _The set of his jaw, those fists, the way his eyes are flashing, staring daggers at the tent flap,_ she noticed, half-alarmed, half growing further aroused._ Maker, but he looks like he is about to go out there and throttle Anders for interrupting us. _She realized suddenly that she was none too happy with the interruption either — she was just too taken in by Fenris's own reaction to react herself. _As sexy as Fenris looks this dangerous, this could get ugly fast…_

Hawke hastily held up a forestalling hand, murmuring only for his ears, "Let me handle this, Fenris." His narrowed eyes shifted to her, but Fenris did not say a word or stop pacing.

She poked only her head out of the flaps to speak to Anders, trying not to look as put out as she felt. "I will get you a few lyrium potions from my pack shortly," she explained. The mage was standing with his back to the tent, and he looked over his shoulder at her when she spoke. Then she heard Fenris growl quietly, so she urged Anders away before there was trouble. "Just… go wait on the bench a moment, all right?"

Anders half-turned and blinked, glancing at the tent, then nodded hesitantly after a moment. "All right, Marian…"

_Is that her idea of handling it then? _Fenris fumed, clenching his jaw hard at her words. _Even now, here, with us alone together, she asks him to bear with her so she can deal with me, as if she needs but a moment to give me some order to be about so she can be left in private with him? _The offhanded way she had addressed the situation reminded him entirely too much of the way Danarius always distractedly considered whether to send him away whenever someone came by to deliver a message or speak to to his former master.

_Is that truly how she regards me, as some… afterthought? _Fenris wondered indignantly._ It would certainly explain last night. Going off with him, returning and waking me, causing me to relive… No, I refuse to think on that again. _He stopped in his pacing and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts of his night terror and haunting memories away again.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring into the corner, at her pack. _After all my attentiveness, this how she regards me? _he thought, beginning to feel like a fool for setting her armor out for her._ She thinks I am… what, at her beck and call? Serving her? Like a… a… _Though he felt the hurt and anger of the accusation, he could not quite bring himself to spell out in his mind that he felt like he was being treated as a slave.

Still, even the vaguest notion of it was more than enough to prod the deep, festering wound. _Is that what I am to her, then? Is that how she thinks of me? A pet to do for her, that she can groom, then send away when it is no longer needed?_ He shook his head ruefully, thinking with biting sarcasm,_ How could I, of all people, ever have had difficulty figuring out this thing between us…_

Hawke waited for Anders to move off, then pulled back inside the tent. As she turned, she instinctively reached out for Fenris as he stalked over to her, hoping the determination she saw on his face was the same as before. He was not looking at her, however, his determination seemingly for the exit. _I don't want him to go, _she thought, feeling a little frantic._ I don't want to fight, not again. Not after last night, not after the lovely morning we were having together, not after everything…_

"Fenris, I…" she began to say, wanting to apologize for the interruption, to assure him Anders could wait, and to restate her promise. Both hands encircled his wrists, fingers already trying to soothe their way into his tight fists and work them loose.

"Don't touch me." Fenris shook her off without stopping, which turned her aside a few steps, then he halted as he reached the tent flaps.

Hawke backed further away and clutched her hands to her chest with a hurt expression, as if she had just been stung. "Fenris, don't-"

He spoke over her without looking back, the canvas absorbing his words, making them somehow sound even more severe for way they fell flat after leaving his lips. "Don't 'Fenris' me, either, Hawke. You clearly have… other priorities this morning. Go, take care of your 'friend.' I have wasted enough time — I do not intend to waste more."

He stormed out of the tent, resolved on finally getting breakfast despite how the hunger in his stomach had twisted into something decidedly other. As he passed the middle bench where Anders perched, he considered the peaky apostate with a menacing glare. Anders ignored him, remaining slumped forward and staring resolutely into the dead fire. Beyond all reason, Fenris found himself further enraged that the mage had dared take his and Hawke's usual bench instead of the one nearest both Anders's own tent and theirs. _What she sees in him I will never know, _he thought, bile churning._ Dumat take him — and all mages. Would that I had never promised her to stay my hand…  
_

"Andraste's blood-soaked pyre," Hawke groaned to the empty tent, looking up at the ceiling. Shaking her head slowly, she rubbed at her forehead. _He really, truly is jealous of Anders? I would never… But I guess I can take some comfort that he cares. Still, is storming off like that any way to get more attention? Maker…_ She stood in the gloom for a few long moments, staring at the tent flaps. "Andraste's notched bedpost, I never acted like that when he carried on with Isabela! Men… But what in all of Thedas am I supposed to do now?"

After an unhelpful moment of introspection, Hawke quickly went to her pack and rummaged out few vials of lyrium, then went to Anders to deposit them in his hand.

"Here, Anders," she sighed. Then, brow furrowing as she considered him, she distractedly thought of asking what had happened his own stash of lyrium potions — but decided she didn't want to risk the conversation devolving into another sermon on the Chantry controlling the lyrium trade and how it suppressed mage freedom — not just at the moment.

_This isn't his fault, Marian… _she thought, trying not to blame Anders._ Fenris was already in a strange mood, and it was all just… bad timing._

"Thank you," Anders replied, gratefully stowing in his belt all but one potion, which he quickly tossed back. He stoppered the empty vial and set it aside, peering up at her. "Is… everything all right?" he asked, hooking his head a little in the direction of the mess tent.

Hawke stopped staring in the same direction, the one Fenris had stormed off in, and glanced down to give Anders a thin smile. "Everything's fine," she lied smoothly. "Excuse me, though, I just need to tend to a few chores." She turned to head back to the tent, taking calm, slow steps as her mind worked.

_What did Fenris call this morning? A waste of time?_ _What did he mean by that? _She forced her hands to remain at her sides, not wanting Anders to notice her agitation. _I don't understand! Just before Anders interrupted, Fenris seemed so… affectionate. _She smoothed a hand over her stomach, frowning at the queasy tightness she felt._ I don't even know if I feel like having breakfast now… Maker, it seems like every day, something bad inevitably happens down here. I'm starting to see why everyone dreads the Deep Roads so._

Frowning in thought and trying to work off the uneasiness she felt, Hawke quietly loaded her pack and the bedrolls into the carts. She left Fenris's pack beside the wagon for him since he still needed to put on his gloves and vambraces, already hoping the small gesture might work towards reconciliation with him. _There is no way I'm letting Fenris push me away again, _she thought stubbornly,_ not over some silly notion he has — really, Anders, of all people? He's Bethany's… something — and I introduced them, for the Maker's sake!_

While she moved around, however, she could feel Anders's eyes following her as she placed things first in one cart, then the other. _No, Fenris is imagining things, _Hawke thought without glancing back at the mage._ Anders and I are friends, nothing more._ Then, when she turned away from emptying the two wash buckets in a nearby empty corner, she caught him openly staring at her while he sat sullenly stirring his porridge rather than eating it.

"Do you need help, Marian?" he asked without sounding at all up to the task before she could ask him why he was looking at her.

Hawke tiredly ran one hand through her hair, waving the other at him before she stacked the buckets. "No, Anders, I'm fine. But thank you." _He… was just wondering if he could help, that is all, _she reassured herself.

Then she paused, realizing she had finished all the chores she could do. _I don't think I can handle packing the tent away by myself… and Anders is not well enough to help me. _She stared blankly down at the buckets. _I suppose I should head to the mess tent and put these back, then have breakfast and try to talk to Fenris…_

But Hawke just continued to stare down at them, finally sighing. _What am I going to even say if I do go to breakfast? How do I tell Fenris not to be jealous without rushing things and confessing how I feel about him? _

She looked askance at Anders, trying to think how Fenris could feel so threatened by him. _Perhaps it is just his general mistrust of mages? Or is it because Anders and I act friendly? I'm friendly with Varric too, though… But I suppose I did get closer to Anders just by leading him back to camp last night than I've managed to get to Fenris by sleeping in the same tent with him these past few nights. But that is what Fenris himself wants… needs. And whatever contact I may have with anyone else… with Fenris it is just… different. Completely different._

Hawke groaned, hating having to do so much thinking so early in the day, hoping that she wasn't botching it in her grogginess. _I know Fenris and I haven't really talked about… anything that's happened between us, but obviously he feels there is something there. So why in all of Thedas is he acting like this? Besides, he knows of my hopes for Bethany and Anders — if he cannot see past these things this morning, how am I supposed to set him right over breakfast? It's as if he… I don't know, wants to be angry!_

Deciding to abandon the buckets and her thoughts for a few minutes, she finally asked, "Shall I pack your tent away, Anders?" As she looked over at him, however, her brow furrowed as she realized Anders had been staring at her yet again, a rather serious and dark expression on his face that fell away as soon as their eyes met.

"If it isn't too much trouble," he replied noncommittally, looking down into his bowl and taking a small, hesitant spoonful.

Hawke sighed in resignation, momentarily holding fretting in check as she walked over to him. _He is so much like Carver with these sad little looks and hedgy answers when something is truly bothering him._ She stopped next to the bench and peered at him in concern. "Were you able to heal yourself, Anders?" He gave her a tiny nod without looking up, and she sighed again. "What's wrong…"

He glanced up at her, expression guarded for a moment before he pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm fine now…" He stirred his bowl a little more, and Hawke waited, sensing he was trying to find the words to say something. "I was actually going to ask you the same thing," he said slowly, without looking at her. "You look… upset."

_Is it that obvious? _Hawke thought tiredly. _Fenris's brooding must be rubbing off on me… _"I'm fine," she repeated, though her use of a somewhat shrill inflection rather gave her away. She rubbed at her brow, immediately knowing questions would be forthcoming.

"Why aren't you eating breakfast, then?" Anders asked, poking at his own still nearly-full bowl of porridge. When she shrugged, he fixed her with a flat look. "I saw your _friend_ stalking away, Marian. And now you're not eating, not smiling, and you're doing all this work by yourself?" She looked away, but she could tell by the tone of Anders's voice that his expression reverted to the grim one she'd just caught him regarding her with. "He may think I am stupid, but I would hope you do not think me such a fool that I would not notice when _my_ friend is upset."

"Really, I am fine," Hawke insisted. She walked away to take care of his tent, calling over her shoulder, "Nothing happened, Anders." _Very little happened in fact, thanks to you, _she grumbled to herself, before growing disconcerted and a little annoyed with herself that she could be thrown so deep into turmoil by Fenris's moods. _No, it is unkind of me to take this out on Anders. I did mention to him last night that he'd probably wind up needing some of my elfroot tea, and he is right to take me up on it rather than languishing all morning, feeling ill. It isn't his fault Fenris and I slept in past Bartrand's warbling and were in the middle of… something. Whatever it was.  
_

"Very well then," Anders said matter-of-factly, setting aside his bowl of porridge. He stood and crossed their small camp to stand beside her. She was already crouching to undo his tent ropes, but he shifted in front of her so she had to straighten again.

"_What_, Anders?" she asked, growing slightly annoyed with him despite herself. She crossed her arms as her already frayed patience and mood began to unravel at his continuing interruptions.

"I'm going to examine you, then heal you," he stated, taking her face in his hands, tilting it this way and that as he peered down at her. "Obviously there is _something_ wrong, and if you claim it is not collateral brooding from your _friend_…"

"Stop _calling_ him that, Anders," Hawke said angrily. She jerked away, just as his thumbs pulled down on her cheeks to open her eyes for closer inspection. She found she did not care whether he was examining her truly or in jest. "He's not 'my friend' — Fenris does have a name, you know." _Maker, the last thing I need is both of them acting like children…_

Anders's eyebrows went up, mouth opening slightly, though he did not speak. Hawke looked away with a scowl, moving back a step with her hands half-raised in both placation and warning. "I'm sorry. I just… I just don't need this right now," she said.

Anders's own hands finally lowered to his sides as his face went unreadable. "If he's not your friend," he said after a long, quiet moment, tone as inscrutable as his expression, "then what exactly is he, Marian?"

_Is… is that how it sounded? _Hawke wondered, thinking back on her words. _Is… that how I meant it? _She swallowed, looking down at her feet as she crossed her arms again. _And yet, whether I did or not… _she thought unhappily, _it is a good question…_

"I don't… I don't see how that matters," she responded coolly after a moment, though her voice was traitorously hoarse. "Nor how it is any of your concern."

_Maker, I wish I knew the answer though. I thought Fenris and I had gotten past all this arguing, that we had become… friendly, and were moving towards friends and something more. But… _She began to grow doubtful as she thought of the bitter way Fenris had sneered the word 'friend' at her. _He makes it sound so terrible…_

Anders stepped towards her and took her by the shoulders. "Of course it matters! And of course it is my concern. Maker, Marian, _I_ am your friend. _I_ care about you. Deeply."

Jostled by Anders's words and built up by her many frustrations, all Hawke's own questions began to spill over and fill up her mind all at once. _Does Fenris care about me? Are we indeed friends? Will he even talk to me if I go to him? Will he stop sleeping in our tent? Doesn't he want me? Does he dream of me? When will he touch me again, where, and will he ever let me touch him more?_

Hawke realized she was fidgeting, her fingers digging into her arms on their own as she thought of running them over Fenris, so she stilled herself. _I notice that I did not even stop to think, 'Why is Fenris so angry?' or 'What is he thinking right now?' _she thought guiltily,_ nor 'I should go reassure him rather than stand here talking to Anders, the very man he is jealous of — however ridiculous that may be.' _She looked aside, barely able to remember what Anders had originally said as she burned with self-reproach at her selfishness.

_No, I am so preoccupied with my own desires, I can only think, 'When will Fenris kiss me? When can I feel his lips, have his mouth on mine, taste him, savor him, devour him? When will I feel his arms around me? When can I press up against him? When will we get so tangled up on our bedrolls that it no longer matters who's is who's?'_ At her continued silence, Anders shifted her to look into her eyes, but she closed them, sure that her frustrated, shallow thoughts would be visible to him, plain as day. _And most of all, I think, when oh when will Fenris just take me? I burn for him so badly, it is a wonder I can stand it!_

She rubbed at her brow, face crinkling in embarrassment and confusion behind her hand. _Maker, how can Fenris possibly be jealous of Anders when I want and need him so badly. Can't he see it? I am doing a very poor job of containing myself even now, and he isn't even here. We share a tent, for the Maker's sake! He is the last person I see when I go to sleep and the first person I see when I wake. I spend every moment I can with him, and I miss him terribly when we are apart. I have already promised him anything… anything he wishes. What more does he want? For me to beg? _Hawke frowned, becoming utterly lost and more than a little self-conscious at how desperate she felt.

_Damn him for making this so confusing! What can I even tell him? I can't tell him I love him. I certainly can't tell him I dream and fantasize of returning to Kirkwall and having him all to myself, about just locking that mansion door of his and stripping us both bare, then roaming over his body for hours, feeling him everywhere, unable to rest until I finally have him moving inside me. _Hawke began biting on her lip just thinking about it, knowing she definitely would not be able to find the words to tell Fenris that over breakfast.

_I have never even kissed his lips, nor even his cheek! _she reminded herself, trying to regain a hold on her wildly running imagination._ I've not even embraced him! Though I dream of all of those things and so much more, I'm lucky to get two hands on him at once. Andraste's studded red leather underthings, he has me so frustrated and pent up that I cannot even think straight, let alone talk straight, especially not when he so much as looks at me with his hands on my waist! This is hopeless. Hopeless!_

She slumped a little, but Anders continued to hold her up by the shoulders, expression patient and solicitous. Feeling him peering at her, she was finally brought back to his original question. _But all that aside, Anders is has a point — what are Fenris and I right now? I have named this love, but what do I know about anything except my own feelings in this? And most of my feelings seem to be… rather carnal. Ugh… what a fine mess, Marian. You really have outdone yourself this time…_

"I do not know what he and I are, Anders," Hawke admitted, shrugging in defeat. She began to flush with chagrin, blinking and looking aside. "Friend… is not how I would choose to describe Fenris. And I doubt he would call me friend in return."

_Not right now, for certain, _she thought dejectedly._ But no, he has always been rather disapproving of me. Even without our differences over magic, we always find something to fight about. Perhaps… perhaps I have been fooling myself. _As she stared down sadly, she could feel Anders's eyes searching her face as he held onto her, though he remained silent.

Hawke swallowed past a lump in her throat and against her nagging fears that Fenris would simply push her away and not return. _He said he wouldn't waste any more time. Did he mean… with me? Ever? _she wondered, feeling the weight of his words crushing her heart._ Maker, I wanted us to talk more, but sometimes when he does speak, it is… like being buried in an avalanche. There is such deep intensity in him, but it goes both ways — I just wish I wasn't so often on the pointy end of it.  
_

Beginning to grow even more despondent_, _she realized, _I don't even really know what Fenris wants from me.__ He rarely ever just says what's on his mind, not until it's too late — he just sits there in silence, thinking or brooding, leaving me to guess. Even at night, he is so quiet. He just… takes my hands and shows me what he wants. But now with the way he stormed out of the tent — he said didn't want me touching him. _She tried to take a deep, calming breath, but it seemed to catch on her overwhelming feeling of rejection.

_So… he doesn't talk, I seem unable to think of anything to say, and we can't just… wrestle around until we make up or something — Maker, don't I wish… _She found she was too upset to even enjoy the tantalizing idea._ So what am I supposed to do? Is it no wonder I'm standing here like some mindless statue? Anders probably thinks I am going to burst into tears at any moment… Not that one doesn't need a good cry now and then, but I hardly wish to face the rest of the expedition or Fenris looking all blotchy and… terribly girly. And I'd rather not have to cry on Anders's feathery shoulders, not if it can be helped… _She glanced at the mage who still stood before her, grasping her shoulders concernedly.

Anders gave her a sympathetic smile when she looked at him. "Marian, I know you. You're like me — your heart cannot take this sort of thing," he finally said. "If he won't even be your friend, don't you think you deserve — better?"

_But I don't want anyone else, _Hawke thought stubbornly. _Fenris just needs time to figure all of this out, surely. _She stared down, shaking her head after a moment.

Anders took it as a denial, growing agitated. "Though _Fenris_ may not appreciate everything you do for him," he said scornfully, "most men would count themselves lucky to have you." He released her, his hands going to his hips as he snorted, looking aside. "I certainly wish _I_ could be half so lucky," he muttered bitterly.

Hawke felt suddenly uncomfortable at the declaration. "I… I don't know what you mean, Anders," she replied quickly, hoping to move off the topic entirely. "I have done little for him that I haven't done for the rest of you." She crossed her arms again and began digging the toe of her boot into the stone floor. "Besides, Fenris is hardly most men."

_He is uncomfortable with attention — though last night I feasted my eyes on him while he slept like he was some kind of dessert. And he doesn't like being touched — though I've been constantly pushing the limits of his tolerance ever since we held hands at his mansion. Which was a very awkward visit, where most men would not have hesitated to try something — I mean, I certainly did… basically tricking him into touching me while we played Wicked Grace… _

Her heart began to sink, seeing a disturbing pattern to her role in their relationship. _And… Maker, when his lyrium markings went off yesterday morning, I didn't even think to see if he was all right. I just sat there enjoying it, moaning like some lascivious tart, when I know his markings have been distressing him lately!_ Hawke began growing increasingly morose as she thought of many legitimate reasons for Fenris to be upset with her.

_I… I am not that shallow and terrible a person, surely… Am I? _She stopped fidgeting and stared down at her feet._ Being careless with a man is bad enough, but Fenris… he is not most men. To be careless with him… after everything he has been through… that would be so cruel and callous. It would make me little better than Danarius. And he hates Danarius…_

Suddenly looking for something to busy herself with, Hawke brushed past Anders to begin packing away his tent again.

Anders finally recovered enough from his shocked incredulity to speak, though his expression was still agog. "You've done more for him than all of us combined, Marian, though I hardly know why!" he cried. "You saved his bloody tattooed hide from a battalion of bounty hunters, then followed him straight over into a dark, random mansion in the middle of the night to battle a bleeding _blood mage_, a blasted magister of the Imperium? All after he had already lied to us and nearly got us killed? Then _you_ gave _him_ paying work? After what he said about mages and magic not five seconds after I patched us all up?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "_And_ you… put up with him," he added darkly, "though I do not know why… or how. No, any one of those things alone should have earned you his undying loyalty and friendship. He owes _you_, Marian. You don't owe him… anything."

Hawke silently reached into the tent and pulled out Anders's staff before collapsing the short poles. _I thought I had Fenris's loyalty, though I seem to test the limits of it so often, _she thought._ Earning the friendship and winning the love of a man with Fenris's past surely cannot happen in one night, despite what Anders may think. But regardless, Fenris owes me nothing. I have given him everything freely, and he has helped me so much in return, besides._

Anders paced for a few moments when she made no reply, then turned back to her. "He doesn't even treat you well, Marian. How could he leave you like this this morning? And he flatly refused to go after you last night, too! He never agrees with you, doesn't trust you, he doesn't approve of you associating with mages _at all_, to say nothing of us apostates. Andraste's bloody pyre, the night he eavesdropped on our conversation about Justice, he grabbed you like… like some animal! He could have hurt you! He _will_ hurt you."

_I'm starting to wish I had stormed off with Fenris, _Hawke thought flatly, reflexively defending him in her mind and growing irritated at Anders for disparaging him_. And Fenris was not wrong in his assessment of me last night; I was rather poor company at dinner_._ Nor can I blame him for not trusting me, as often as we misunderstand each other. I am surprised that he has trusted me at all, for that matter, with everything he has been through. _

She silently moved to the front of Anders's tent and collapsed those poles, too. _And as for mages… Well, that he tolerates them at all for my sake is a wonder, with how strongly he feels about magic — though he has been very cordial to Bethany, at least. He even seemed worried about her, concerned Anders was not good for her. _She looked askance at the pacing healer as she worked and found she was almost starting to agree with Fenris. _And as for that night we argued in Varric's suite, I provoked Fenris into grabbing me… and I remember thrilling at his touch, even then. So strong, yet controlled… just enough pressure to hold me… perfectly. _She paused, rubbing absentmindedly at her wrist._ No… let him hurt me. I can take it. I think I'd rather feel something from him than nothing at all._

"Whether you agree with Fenris or not, Anders," Hawke explained quietly, "and whether he explains himself or not, he has good reasons for all of those things." She ignored his derisive snort. "Even if he and I don't always understand each other or see eye to eye, I… trust him." _And love him, though it drives me mad, _she added to herself._  
_

"Oh, well, love really does conquer all, doesn't it?" Anders responded scathingly, throwing his hands in the air. While he paced even more furiously for a few moments, Hawke froze, wondering if she had truly spoken her thought out loud. "Marian, I cannot believe you would defend him, let alone trust him even though he would see all mages, mages like your sister, Merrill, and me put in the Circle or summarily executed on the off-chance!"

Hawke frowned, looking directly at Anders for the first time since starting the conversation. "Fenris has promised to work with all of you, and I trust his word," she stated tersely. "You have nothing to fear from him." When Anders made a mocking face, her own expression hardened. "And yes, actually, I do believe love conquers all. My father always taught us that love was more powerful than magic, that it was a gift the Maker gave to everyone. A superior gift, for, unlike mana, you needn't conserve love — you can never run out of it."

Anders expression went a little stricken at her sincerity, and he looked away. Then, after a long moment, he gave a soft, mirthless chuckle. "I… remember when I used to sound like that."

Hawke went back to straightening his tent canvas, trying not to pluck too hard at the cloth in her growing exasperation so she could fold it up neatly.

"Now?" Anders continued, voice thin and gaze distant as he spoke almost to himself. "Well… love is all very well and good for normal people. But unfortunately, just as with magic, there are some things love just… cannot do. There are some people and some things that are so broken, even love could never fix them."

Expression going dangerous, Hawke looked at him again. "And what or who exactly is so broken, Anders? If you mean Fenris, just say it." _Maker, can he really not see past anything when it comes to him? It is no wonder Fenris is unhappy with him. Why am I even talking to him about this when I know he will never approve of us simply because he and Fenris disagree about magic!_

Anders glanced at her, looking startled, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Well…" It was his turn to look embarrassed and uncertain."I… I guess I mean a lot of things. Just as there are limits to magic — you cannot move between two places, cannot undo death, cannot undo possession by a demon… or spirit — so too can love not keep people from being torn apart from one another, from hurting one another, from… betraying another's trust." He looked away again, staring blankly, and Hawke paused once more in packing away his tent, feeling suddenly a little guilty and concerned as she watched him grow more grieved as he slowly continued. "I have seen love fail so many times, Marian," he said quietly. "The Circle… my clinic… my whole life; they are littered with broken people and broken promises." He sighed heavily, rubbing at his forehead. "These days, I wonder what the use of any of it is…"

Rather troubled by his sudden despondency, Hawke urged, "You mustn't give up, Anders."

He just shrugged and shook his head, then gave her a dejected, hesitant look. Quietly Anders begged, "Marian… give me some reason not to?"

Hawke paused at that, then searched for a moment, not wanting to simply put forward her sister since she did not know for certain where Bethany and Anders stood. _Poor hopelessly romantic Anders, he is even worse off than me, _she thought sadly._ He just needs reassurance that things can get better, that there's always hope, something to keep fighting for._

"Love," she finally said. "Love is strength, not weakness, Anders. 'There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept,'" she quoted, "and my father always added, 'especially one made and kept for love.' He said he'd thought about it his whole life and he'd been all over the Free Marches, and still could never think of or find anything stronger. It took time, but eventually he found Mother. So too will you find… someone. Just don't give up, even if things seem difficult or… ill-fated at the moment."

Anders just hung his head, shaking it slowly as he rubbed tiredly at his face, so Hawke added, "Just because something breaks does not necessarily mean it was weak — nor that it cannot be fixed." She hoped to sound reassuring, but he seemed almost not to hear her. _He seems in even more turmoil than I, as upset as he was last night.__ I had thought it just the ale, but perhaps this truly is about him and Bethany, something to do with why he wanted me to apologize to her. Maybe he thinks they won't be able to reconcile? _She sighed heavily. _Oh__ Anders… _

"No matter what happens, Anders… you and I will always be friends. I can promise you that," she finally said. _Even if he and Bethany aren't right for each other, and even if he and Fenris can't see eye to eye, he needn't fear not having me as a friend. It might not be easy if he has to avoid both my sister and my… whatever Fenris is, but…  
_

Anders stood staring at the ground for a time, silent. Then his hands curled into fists and he began to shake, growing increasingly agitated though he did not look up. "Promises…" he retorted finally, voice thick with derision. "I am _sick_ to death of promises."

Utterly taken back by his unexpected response, Hawke froze as his icy tone washed over her, shivering and feeling as if all her hair stood on end.

Anders flashed her with a hard look and she flinched, not expecting to see such loathing and hatred on his face. "Do you know templars promise to 'protect' mages, Hawke?" he asked angrily. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, and his tone went eerily normal again. "It is… amazing how people can twist even a promise made to the Maker to suit themselves. Promises between two people really do not stand a chance. There's always some excuse, some justification, some clever loophole… if they don't just disregard it outright, conveniently letting it slip their mind…"

He opened his eyes to look down at his hands, voice bitter and full of abhorrence. "If you'd seen what I have seen, if you knew what I know, you would understand why I take no comfort in promises. Not anymore. By the time you discover they have been broken, it is already far too late to fix anything."

"Anders?" Hawke said, growing both confused and concerned at his rapid changes in mood. "If… there's something you want to talk about…" But he was already becoming irritated again.

"Your father was fortunate to escape the Circle," he said ruefully, leaning down and scooping up his staff, "but because he managed it so easily where countless others like myself repeatedly failed, I think it gave him some very… idealistic notions about the way the world works. I only wish he hadn't let you and your sister be so trusting. You are both far too naive about love and promises and the way this unjust world truly works."

"I… beg your pardon?" Hawke asked incredulously, beginning to draw herself up. "Who are you to speak of my father that way? We may be friends, Anders, but you are letting yourself get far too carried away with this Justice thi-"

Anders's eyes flashed again as he loudly smashed the end of his staff against the cavern floor, and despite herself Hawke jumped, finding she could do little but gape.

"Do _not_ speak to me of justice, Hawke," he declared, jabbing a finger at her. "That elf has already begun to taint what you have believed your whole life, even if you refuse to see it yourself. This is why the injustices we mages face from people like him must be overcome by actions. The fear of magic spreads like a disease, and diseases require healing, not _friendship _or _love _or _promises_."

He pointed his accusatory finger in the direction of the mess tent. "Whatever _Fenris_ is to you, remember this: he finds it so terribly easy to cast judgement on us all then just… walk away. And when in doubt, he just… rips someone's heart out. Isn't that just _brilliant _for him…"

Hawke swallowed hard, completely blindsided by Anders's cold rage and at the uncomfortable truth of his words.

"_Actions_ speak the loudest, Hawke, not words, nor any promise that may or may not be kept," he warned. "Hope for your own sake there never comes a day when your naivety comes face to face with reality. Would that we were all so fortunate." With that, he strode away, not looking back at her.

Hawke let him go, too stunned to even watch him leave. _Well, at least he seems to be feeling better,_ she thought blankly. Then as it grew quiet again, her anger built and bubbled, cascading hot over her. "What the _fuck_ has gotten into all the men this morning!" she swore vehemently to the empty camp. She felt a scream rising in her throat and she shook her fists impotently, eventually pounding them against her own thighs. "Just… just… aaargghh!"

She took a few heavy breaths then hastily resumed folding the small tent into a haphazard bundle, and her mind soon began to seethe. _Anders's interest in me seems to go about as far as drilling his viewpoints on magic into me. As if I don't know about the plight of mages, living my whole life on the run from the Templars as much as my father or Bethany! Damn his stupid, smug face for being unable to see past the end of his blighted nose over Justice and magic… Throwing my friendship back in my face right after going on about how terrible it is that I don't know if Fenris and I are friends? Maker, the nerve…!  
_

She huffed indignantly. _Well, Fenris certainly has nothing to be jealous of with Anders. Although if I could, I might crack the two of their heads together just to see if there's any brains inside either of their thick skulls. Andraste's sainted and puckered arsehole, I do not understand men and their ridiculous overprotectiveness. One calls me reckless and the other calls me naive, yet they both act like horses' asses to me and go tearing off, leaving me standing here like a slackjawed fool. Oh, thank you terribly for your concern, gentlemen…_

She picked up Anders's tent and carried it over to the cart, throwing it in the back. _I am going to go eat some breakfast. I'm not going to walk around all day with my stomach growling, though I may well do some growling regardless. Hmph, well… At least now I have something to tell Fenris to show him he has nothing to be jealous of without having to say anything to rush things. Though I am almost tempted to make him sleep elsewhere tonight. Maybe he and Anders should bunk together, since they have so much in common, ferreting out all my shortcomings. They could compare notes. 'Is she reckless because she's naive, or is she naive in spite of her recklessness? Discuss!'  
_

Despite her simmering anger, Hawke stood near Bodahn's cart for a few quiet minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. _I for one, am not going to act like a complete crazy person today. I am a professional. And naturally it will take a woman to show these men how things are properly done. _Eventually, she just grabbed the empty buckets and Anders's dish, then headed for the mess tent. Chin up, she tossed her hair and strolled confidently, feeling more resolved and composed with each step. _Act professional, ignore Anders, eat breakfast. At least those first two should make Fenris happy… as happy as he gets, anyway, _she mused cheerlessly. _But I swear, I will get a massage or something from him out of this… I could use something to relax me after this utterly stressful morning… Men…  
_

* * *

Fenris nodded a quick, polite, but tight-lipped greeting to Bodahn, only claiming two bowls of porridge for his breakfast. _I have been indulging too much lately,_ he decided darkly, forgoing his usual third bowl. _I do not wish to grow soft. Hawke may try to placate me by seeing to my appetites, but unlike that mage, I do not need her coddling._

He shoved a spoon into one of the bowls before taking one in each hand from the tray already set out for Hawke, ignoring the rest. Then, turning with eyes firmly on their usual table, which he noted with grim satisfaction was unoccupied, Fenris stalked his way over to sit and eat alone.

He ignored the sparse smattering of hirelings that watched him pass, thinking of nothing, emptying his mind and letting a dispassionate calm settle over himself to drive away the last vestiges of his anger and any further thoughts of Hawke. Part of him knew much of his anger was directed at himself, at feeling weak and foolish over letting his new, strange feelings be so easily bruised and wounded by her tacit acceptance of Anders's intrusion — and of letting himself have tender feelings to be hurt in the first place.

Still, he flatly refused to think about any of it, determined to eat his breakfast in peace and solitude. He tried to force his stomach to unknot as he stirred at his porridge, trying to find some tranquility in the familiar feeling of being alone. However, both his hunger and isolation seemed to be ill-fated that morning.

"That porridge kill your whole family right down to the last dog or something, elf?" Varric asked, plopping down in his usual seat. "The way you're glaring and stabbing at it, it's likely to slink off and die soon. You may want to hold onto your bowl as tightly as you're gripping that spoon or you'll have to hunt it down to finish it off."

Fenris did not even lift his head, merely shooting a hard look across the table at the dwarf.

Varric pretended to stagger back, slapping a hand over his hairy chest as if struck. Then he straightened, inclining his head to the empty space on the bench to his right. "What, no Hawke? Again? Huh, she seemed fine when I saw her earlier. I figured she'd gotten over what got into her yesterday."

Fenris took a few slow spoonfuls of porridge, not bothering to answer, hoping Varric would go away since he had not carried any food to the table. But Varric just sat in companionable silence, setting Bianca on the table after a moment. He tugged an ivory-colored chamois cloth out of a pocket of his duster and began to shine the brass fittings of his crossbow.

_Nosy dwarf…_ Fenris finally thought, poking at his porridge and setting his mouth in a line at the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

"Take your time," Varric said generously after a minute, eyes flicking over to briefly consider Fenris and his lackluster appetite. "I've got Bartrand on a wild goose chase, looking for me up the tunnel. He thinks I went with the Carta guys on their pre-breakfast scouting run." He chuckled to himself while burnishing Bianca's new rune. "I decided it would be in everyone's best interests to take it easy this morning — except for him. Mostly my own best interest, but… what can I say, I like to share — must be my heart of gold."

Sighing heavily at his lost opportunity for a quiet breakfast, Fenris forced himself to eat a few more spoonfuls of porridge. He grimaced with the effort of swallowing past the uncharacteristic desire not to eat, though.

"Damn shame about your face," Varric added, tone completely conversational, though he did not look up from his polishing. Fenris immediately schooled his expression back to blankness. "All the hirelings are in a good mood this morning," the dwarf continued. "Guess I must have accidentally picked the grumpy side of the cavern for our camp. Oh well. Can't win them all."

Fenris loomed forward, releasing his spoon with a clatter as he dropped his hands in fists to the tabletop. The bowls jumped a little. "Is there a point to your nattering, dwarf," he asked angrily, "or do you simply think me a captive audience since no one else is here to speak to?" _As if I wished to speak to anyone. He supposedly has such keen eyes — isn't it obvious I wish to be left alone? Hmph. This dwarf and his never-ending prattle…_

Varric just raised an eyebrow. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, elf." He waited for Fenris to glare at him again before holding up a calming hand. "First, I do not, nor have I ever 'nattered.' I _blather_ — perhaps with a bit of occasional jabbering thrown in to keep things interesting." Fenris just regarded him flatly, but Varric was undeterred as always. "And second, you're hardly a captive audience. Why, you're as free as a bird!"

Fenris rolled his eyes before flicking them skeptically up at the stone ceiling, trying to imagine how any bird could feel free underground, even in the huge, vaulted cavern they were in.

Catching his expression, Varric waved his hand in appeasement and screwed his face up a little. "Okay, so that expression doesn't work so great down here. And it was supposed to be a pun because of your… you know, slavery thing. But whatever."

"My 'slavery thing,' as you call it," Fenris warned fiercely, "is not a matter for your unfunny _jokes, _dwarf." _Is everyone against me today? _he wondered hotly. He could feel a stream of Tevinter and Qunari curse words building inside him, filling his stomach with fire. _It is no wonder I am not hungry. In fact I have half a mind to just head back to the surface on my own. This place… these people…_

"A pun is more a play on words than a joke, but I'll let it slide," Varric muttered. "I've had a long morning, too."

"What, hiding behind the mess tent from your brother?" Fenris asked derisively, remembering what Hawke had told him when she returned with their buckets. "Surely you cannot be serious…"

_He thinks to compare his trials to mine? _he thought angrily. _What does he know of anything but minor inconveniences? Is he haunted at night with foul memories? Does his very flesh torment him the moment he lets down his guard? His brother is harmless compared to that abomination, and Hawke does not ignore Varric and brush aside his warnings, flaunting her… her… recklessness before him in his own tent…_

"It gets hot back there!" Varric replied defensively. "And Bodahn's boy kept wanting to hold Bianca and…" He leaned forward, casting his eyes around apprehensively. "… _finger her rune socket_." He shuddered and scrunched his eyes in disgust before frowning. "Heh, can you believe the nerve some people? It's like they've never heard of boundaries! Granted, the kid drilled it there… but still! Show a lady some respect!"

"Hmph." Fenris picked up his spoon and tried to finish his first bowl of porridge after making the terse noise. He only managed to get the spoon halfway to his mouth, however.

"Speaking of ladies," Varric continued, "word is Hawke and Anders cut a fine pair over at the hirelings' camp last night. Apparently that Remigold is a real skirt-whirler, and there was plenty of leg to be seen…"

Fenris froze with spoon hovering, turning his head slowly to regard Varric. "… _And_?" he asked scathingly. He patently refused to bring up the memory of seeing Hawke just before she took her bath at his mansion, standing in his room in her skirt, legs completely bare to the thigh, nor how the britches underneath her skirt were even shorter.

"And I thought maybe it'd cheer you up hearing about it," the dwarf said with a smile and a shrug.

"I assure you, it does _not_." _So, she did go over there seeking attention after all, _Fenris seethed._ I was right about…_

Varric interrupted his thoughts. "Ah. Well, I guess I wouldn't really want to think about Blondie kicking his big, hairy legs up and flapping his robe around while I was eating, either. Good point." He fell silent for a moment, nodding in understanding.

"But it's a shame Hawke didn't bring any gowns to remind Blondie that he's supposed to dance the man's part," he continued, "though she supposedly cut a stately, noble figure until she had to abandon the dance to keep Blondie from reenacting Andraste's dramatic demise in the hirelings' fire." The dwarf chuckled heartily. "Humans… they can be quite fascinating. We dwarves dance better when drunk — and a female dwarf would probably just laugh herself unconscious if someone fell into a fire. Great senses of humor, those dwarven girls, gotta love 'em…"

Fenris just continued to scowl, hardly mollified to be reminded that Hawke wore pants at night and that it seemed she had done nothing scandalous.

"Well, sorry if I uh… spoiled your appetite," Varric apologized, rather nonchalant about it all the same. He thrust his chin at Fenris's tilted, hovering spoon, which had been losing porridge at a slow but steady rate.

As if taking the words as a challenge, Fenris turned back to his bowl and raised the mostly-empty spoon to his lips, then quickly finished the last few remaining bites in quick succession. He didn't bother to scrape the bowl as usual, however, merely setting it aside before looking at his second one.

"At least Hawke found something to do with herself," Varric continued after a minute. "Sounds like everyone had fun, though the grapevine has it that, between her own reputation and yours, the hirelings were scared into behaving their best. Which probably isn't a bad thing, come to think of it, even if you two…" Fenris made what sounded like a growl of warning, and Varric cleared his throat, moving along off the subject.

"Well… the longer they see her as a captivating yet unobtainable heroine with nerves of steel, skilled beyond all mortal ken, the easier it'll be for them to swallow my stories about her, hook, line, and sinker." He smiled serenely over at Fenris.

_Captivating? Unobtainable? _Fenris thought scornfully, frowning back. He decided not to think too hard about why either of Varric's choices of words rankled him so. "What Hawke does with her evenings, and her mornings for that matter, is of no interest to me," he muttered darkly. He punctuated his statement with another hard, sideways glance at Varric, trusting that would put an end to the matter. Then he turned back to his bowl, finding the grayish sludge utterly unappealing when he stared down at it. _Not even halfway through breakfast and already my day is ruined… _he thought bitterly.

"I'm pretty sure you'd be very interested if she spent her evenings, say, lighting your tent on fire," Varric said with a chuckle. "Especially if you were in it."

Fenris rolled his eyes and looked at him again, face a mask of the barest forbearance. "Why would she ever do something like that?" he sneered. _This… silly, odd dwarf. He has too much… imagination. Why must he inflict it on me?_

Varric just cackled. "You don't know much about women, do you, elf?" he asked, smiling.

"No. I don't," Fenris replied in a clipped tone, trying not to clench his jaw. "For three years I have been trying to survive, staying one step ahead of the hunters and Danarius. I have far more important things with which to occupy my thoughts, even now_._" His dwarven nuisance did not seem the least bit surprised or put off the subject, however, which only made Fenris grit his teeth.

_Venhedis, why am I even speaking to him? Nosy dwarf, always questioning, always seeking some new 'tale.' _But he realized his only options were staying to finish his breakfast, going back to Hawke, or wandering the massive cavern aimlessly while camp was being struck, so he shifted on the bench and remained sitting at the table despite the continuing chatter.

"Some might argue knowing how to keep your head on straight around the ladies would be akin to survival," the dwarf offered amiably. "And, Maker, just try staying one step ahead of a woman scorned sometime!" He whistled low and shook his head gravely. Fenris just continued to hunch over his bowl, sullenly stirring and frowning at his porridge, though he began to seriously doubt he could even eat it.

"Still, nothing like learning by doing," Varric continued cheerfully, "…especially when it comes to women." He peered down at his crossbow, buffing diligently at some speck that only he could see. "Maker knows, it can get a little… iffy at times, though."

"I wouldn't know," Fenris said with finality, releasing his spoon then uprighting a tumbler before filling it with water. Since no one had been at the table before him and he had not brewed any tea, there was none to be had. _She had plenty of time to brew elfroot tea for that apostate, _he thought sourly of Hawke. Then Fenris remembered that it had been his decision to leave her behind and go to breakfast without her.

Varric just raised an eyebrow, sighing quietly to himself as he flipped Bianca over and began meticulously polishing her other side. There was silence for a time while Fenris tried to sip at his water to get his stomach to settle.

"You feeling sick, too?" Varric finally commented, though clearly he knew it was more a rhetorical question and was not expecting Fenris to actually answer. He nodded his head towards Fenris's untouched second bowl of porridge. "I sure hope nothing's going around — camps can be like that. Blondie woke me up with his bellyaching — I mean, he said it was just too much ale, but I know plenty about too much ale. He seemed too… woeful for just that. More long in the face than usual. You'd think a healer…"

"No, Varric, I wouldn't _think_," Fenris interrupted irritatedly, slamming his empty tumbler down. "I do not spend my time _thinking_ about _Anders_, just as I do not wish to spend my time talking about him. Or anything else, for that matter." He angrily began whipping his porridge again, though he still did not begin to eat. "This is why I wanted a solitary breakfast. Perhaps I _am_ sick — of him, of talk, of… this…" He made a peevish gesture, waving one hand around. "… place. Of _all_ of this."

His tablemate considered him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, pursing his lips a little in thought. "Fair enough," Varric finally chuckled. "Dwarf or no, I can't say I'd want to live down here, myself."

_Fasta vass_, Fenris thought, raging in his mind, _there clearly is to be no end to his words. His head is as thick as the stone above. I should finish this wretched meal and go find somewhere more peaceful. Unpalatable thoughts, unpalatable conversation, and unpalatable food… _

Hoping there was some way to mitigate his last complaint at least, he reached across the table out of habit to retrieve the honey, pausing when his fingers met only empty air. It still sat in the center of the table, since Hawke was not there and had not moved it as usual. And he had not even thought to add any to his first bowl of porridge between his detached frame of mind and Varric's interruption.

Fenris looked across the table at Hawke's empty place setting, suddenly feeling a deep throb of something he could not name. The missing honeypot made him think of her and their usual mealtime rituals — unbidden reminders of all the considerations she made only on his behalf. _She carries my bowls to and from the table, sets out my cup for me, hands me the honey each morning after she puts a little in her tea and rather too much in her porridge… Then she lets me eat in silence. Though when she does speak to me… when she look at me…_

The deeply buried feeling of loneliness started aching in his chest again — only instead of the usual pain of not knowing or remembering who it was that he missed, Fenris knew that it was Hawke's presence that was lacking. He tried to shove it away with anger, thinking jealously, _She has not even come. She would rather sit back at the camp with that mage than come breakfast with me. Will she try to go the morning without eating? That is reckless. If we got into any kind of extended battle, she would be weakened, for no doubt she has not had experience fighting while hungry, not as I have. She could get hurt, or worse. Does she think I can protect her regardless of her own folly? Such foolishness…_

But even as he tried to keep himself detached, logical, and above reproach, he knew she had stayed away because he had pushed her away again. The thought that she was avoiding him, that she would rather go hungry than face him made him feel contemptible, knowing firsthand as he did what it was like to fear someone that much and not wanting to be anything like the magisters.

_I… told her not to touch me_, he thought, looking down to where his hands rested limply on the tabletop. He could remember the feel of her fingers wrapping around his wrists tenderly, her skin warm and soft. After many years of feeling the possessive, harsh grip of Danarius and Hadriana, Fenris knew he knew better, more than enough to be able to tell the difference between her touch and theirs. Slowly, he began to suspect his last accusatory thought of foolishness had possibly not been meant for Hawke at all.

_The things she has done for me, the promises she has made, the feel of her touch and the look in her eyes… _he thought, looking distantly aside and beginning to grow profoundly chagrined. His body seemed to agree intensely, heart squeezing, stomach twisting, eyes lowering, muscles feeling rigid and tense all, at once. _I accused her before of using me as a slave, _he remembered, thinking back to the day they had passed each other on the long stairs leading from Lowtown to Hightown.

_She… she said she would rather die than see me a slave again, _he thought, reliving her words._ And there was no hesitation, no untruth in her eyes as she said it. It was unlike anything anyone ever said to me, even the Fog Warriors. I remember it… only too well. _

He could recall the scene vividly with his acute memory, could envision the way she had pursed her lips after he accused her, how her cheeks had flushed a little and she had recoiled, as if slapped. But then she had searched his eyes for a few long moments before she spoke, her angry expression changing to one of grim determination even as something in her gaze softened.

Just as he had then, Fenris again felt a stab of regret as he looked at her in his mind's eye and heard her words echoing in his thoughts. As he resumed staring at Hawke's empty place at the table, some of the bitterness in his heart drained away — but it left only sore emptiness in its place.

_I should eat_, he thought to himself, deciding to fill the gap with food. Forgoing the honey and the effort of retrieving it, Fenris took a spoonful of the tepid porridge, deciding that he should be content with eating a second helping of bland food.

"Well, elf," Varric finally said after a few minutes of silence as he tucked away his polishing cloth, "I know how to take a hint. I'll leave you to finish your breakfast in peace." He stood, picking up Bianca and cradling the crossbow in the crook of his arm, careful not to leave any smudges on her gleaming brass embellishments.

"You see?" Varric said with a smile. "Talking isn't so bad. You tell me you want to eat alone, and I listen. Simple as that. Piece of cake, really." Fenris gave him a skeptical, resigned look, but the dwarf had already begun to expound. "That's why I love talking. Really is no finer way to communicate. When something or someone is bothering you, sometimes the best way to go about dealing with it is to talk. Just say it! Tell someone what you think. Better yet, go tell the person that's bothering you what's bothering you. You know, really… let it all out. Go right up to them and say…"

Varric cut off and stiffened, then crouched down behind the table. "Shit, Bartrand is back." He crept sideways so Fenris was between him and anyone looking towards the mess tent. "Gotta go," he muttered. "Hope your face doesn't get stuck like that… and if my brother asks? You didn't see me. We never talked."

"VARRIC! Where in sodding blazes…" Bartrand roared. "I hope for his damn sake he took a long fall down a short shaft!" Varric began to creep backwards, then made a hasty dash for the mess tent all at once. "GIRLY! Have you seen that half-witted, lying, no good brother of mine? I don't know what he's playing at this morning, but when I get my hands on him…"

In spite of the odd sensation he felt when he realized that Hawke must be nearby, Fenris continued to eat, not turning to see what was taking place behind him as Varric disappeared behind the mess tent and Bartrand continued to rail on about wanting to find him and wring his neck. But as he heard Hawke's voice, a strange, tense feeling tingled along Fenris's spine, an odd, anticipatory tightness taking hold of him that made it difficult for him to continue slouching and eating.

"I'm sorry, Bartrand, I haven't seen him in some time. But if I do run across him, I'll let him know you are looking for him."

Fenris continued to eat anyway, staring blankly at the tabletop as he wondered how Hawke could sound so calm and normal when he still felt taut, angry, and unsettled. _Perhaps she simply does not care, _he thought, then felt joylessly vindicated as she walked past without stopping, her boots softly announcing her passage on the outside aisle of the row of tables. Though he did not look up or follow her with his eyes, Fenris could hear her putting buckets away on the far side of the mess tent, then an unintelligible murmur of conversation as she evidently went behind it and spoke with Varric.

Fenris finally finished his second bowl of porridge and stacked the bowl with the first, pushing them towards the center of the table. He hoped it would keep Sandal from seeing the dishes and rushing over to gawk at him before carrying them away. _Not that it matters. I should go_, he thought. Then, calculating that the camp would probably now be empty and he could be alone_,_ he decided he could return there.

_No doubt that apostate will not hang about long since Hawke is no longer there, _he thought jealously. Yet Fenris remained sitting on the bench, though he rested one forearm in front of himself on the table while he pressed his other hand to his thigh and looked down, as if readying to stand. He felt caught halfway between a desire to go and to remain, wanting to know what, if anything, Hawke would say or do, yet apprehensive at subjecting himself to anything further that morning. _No doubt she has come up with some cunning, clever excuse… well, what care I? It doesn't matter._ His posture reflected a man ready to stand, yet he continued to stare distantly at the table as he heard boots approaching again.

"May I join you, Fenris?" Hawke asked, standing beside the table with the mostly-empty tray. _He truly has brooding down to a fine art, _she thought, taking in the sight of him sitting at the table looking both lonely and dark. _Andraste preserve me, no man should be allowed to look half so handsome when I am this angry…_

Without looking up, Fenris scratched at his chin, then shrugged and made a dismissive gesture with his hand before dropping it back to rest on the table. "You needn't my approval." _I do not know why she asks. She is her own woman, this is her usual table — what care I where she sits?_

"I don't?" she asked with a mirthless chuckle, setting the tray down. "I… rather got the impression that's what this is all about." _I may as well not beat around the bush… _Hawke decided._ Fenris will be vague and silent enough for both of us. _He did not reply, though she was more than familiar enough with his appearance to notice the stiffness to his expression and posture, indicating she had hit the mark. She sat down, silently adding some honey to her cool bowl of porridge as she waited to see what he would do or say.

_I do not know what she expects, _Fenris thought, refusing to budge, physically or mentally. _She is free to do as she wishes, as am I. I make no claim on her — and she certainly has no claim on me. I will be a slave to no man or woman. Never again. _He began to scowl, determined not to even look at her.

"Do you want your last bowl of porridge? Shall I put some honey in it for you?" Hawke asked, stealing a glance at him. _He didn't even finish his breakfast. He must be more upset than I thought. _Her worry over his well-being trumped her anger as she considered him more closely from across the table._  
_

"No," Fenris ground out sullenly. He closed his eyes against the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that still roiled. _And I do not need or want her coddling,_ he thought again testily. _I…_

"Are you sure?" she asked, growing more concerned and less angry as she took in his drawn appearance. "Bartrand is probably going to have us sprinting through the Deep Roads today despite Varric's attempt to give everyone a break. You will need your strength." _Yes, he must be in quite a state indeed for it to have affected his appetite, _she thought concernedly. _I have never seen Fenris look so unwell._

Fenris could hardly counter her argument after having made a similar, albeit more judgmental one to himself about her absence from breakfast. _Festis bei umo canavarum… _

"If you insist," he growled. He retrieved his spoon from between the bowls he'd stacked and set aside. "But I do not _need_ honey," he insisted in turn. "It is fine the way it is." He seized the third bowl before Hawke could add any, then bent over it and forced down three bites in quick succession as if to prove his point.

Hawke sat the pot in front of him anyway, raising an eyebrow. "Just because it doesn't need it doesn't mean it isn't nice to have some," she replied quietly. "We both know you always like honey. Why not have some then?" Fenris just kept eating, ignoring the honeypot and not looking at her as she watched and tried to puzzle him out. _This is more than just about Anders, _she decided.

"What's different about this morning, Fenris?" she asked softly. _I would understand far better if he would just talk to me, _she thought with a sigh, trying to eat as she waited for him to speak.

_The only thing I need is to survive. What I want is irrelevant, _Fenris thought darkly, refusing to acknowledge what else he started to think he needed and wanted. He instead focused his awareness fully on the present, stubbornly disregarding all else. But then he could feel Hawke staring at him, the weight of her question hanging in the air over him, her quiet sigh seeming to prod at him. Despite his earlier resolve not to look at her, he glanced up, meaning to fix her with a menacing glare to get her to stop.

But he was fixed by her instead, by the open look of concern and tenderness on her face, her fear etched into the little wrinkles furrowed between her fetching eyebrows. It reminded him of the way she had looked on the road from Kirkwall, when she had asked if he wanted her to leave him alone and he had been unable to tell her to go. _No… _he thought again, though now it was because he was trying to push anything resembling tenderness away.

Still, her eyes made him remember how she had been looking at him in their tent just a short time ago, when she promised to always help him, how her gaze had made him feel worthy, stronger, better, and somehow more. With all the troubling disquiet he'd felt since storming away, Fenris began to want those feelings back, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain the barrier of pride, anger, and obstinacy he had put up to block her out. _No…_

Yet part of him insisted it was far more difficult to go back again, to admit he might have misjudged things, knowing it could be painful to reclaim the new feelings that had been inadvertently wounded, then left behind when he walked out.

"Let it go, Hawke," Fenris warned as he held her eyes, meaning more than just the subject of the honey. Hawke immediately looked away, obviously understanding as much.

Yet even as he said it, Fenris knew his words were an act of desperation, that he was making one last attempt to hang onto his old, simple answers, his neat, if cynical, explanation for everything, one that would easily clear up what he had been so confused about regarding her. Part of him hoped it would work, if only because believing that even she saw him as someone not to be trusted, a tool to be used, someone to be exploited, someone broken and dangerous, it would make everything simple again. _No…_

Still, another part of him was already despairing that he might finally succeed.

_I had thought us past this, _Hawke thought, staring out at nothing. _I had thought I need not fear him leaving down here. And I had thought after what he said when we left Kirkwall, after everything that we have slowly built up between us since that he would not push me away, not like this, not again. He does one thing, yet says another. _She swallowed, though her throat felt entirely too tight to manage it._ Which am I to believe?_

She searched quietly for a moment, reflecting on what Anders had just told her. _'It is his actions that will speak the loudest, not his words…' And yet this morning, both Fenris's actions and his words are that he wants little to do with me… _Hawke frowned, growing disquieted. _Anders thinks I deserve better, that Fenris will hurt me, that he doesn't appreciate me… _She took a deep breath, wondering if she should even heed the mage's unsolicited advice, given how angry and prejudiced he had grown as their conversation had devolved into yet another rather one-sided debate on magic. _And a heated one at that, _she thought. _Maker, he was right though. I have put myself through a lot of trouble over one broody elf…_

Eventually Hawke shook her head, looking down at her bowl and poking at it instead of looking at Fenris. "No."

Fenris looked up and frowned. "What do you mean?" He'd been so caught up in his own doubts that he'd forgotten what he even had said.

Hawke set her mouth with determination. _I'll be damned if I'm going to go through everything I have this morning, everything over the past few weeks, having come this far, letting him drive me this crazy just to let him off so easily. No, indeed Fenris. No._

"I cannot let it go, Fenris," she said with more confidence than she truly felt. "In fact, I will not. I may have promised to do anything you want, but… that cannot include breaking my other promises. They were mine to make, and they are mine to keep. I'm sorry." She finally looked up from her bowl, though she could only regard him askance, genuinely afraid of what he might try next. _If I am wrong about this, they'll probably have to sweep little pieces of me up. He could shatter me with that voice of his with just a few choice words…  
_

"I do not see how it would be _breaking_ anything," Fenris argued immediately. He did not really understand what she meant, but the idea of something being broken raked sharply at a deep wound in his heart.

But though it had satisfied his instinct to protect himself, at once he regretted saying it. The despair in him began to grow and feed back in on itself as Hawke looked away again, chewing on her lip, her face a mask of deep uncertainty. _I may be a poor conversationalist__, _he told himself grimly_, but I certainly argue well_. Everything began to feel more wrong to him the longer she remained silent, but he had nothing to say, even if he knew what it was that was needed to make things feel right again.

_It is no wonder I am alone, _he began to think as Hawke closed her eyes and lowered her head._ I cannot stand for anyone to get near, not even her, not even when she speaks to me openly, kindly, gently, when she talks to me of selfless promises. Like some wounded animal, I push everything away, snapping at any hand that comes near, regardless whether it is aid or not._

He looked down at the markings on his arms and hands, spreading his fingers. _I destroy everything around me, then I flee until I reach somewhere else — and then I destroy that, too. I am a living weapon, forged for one purpose, and it seems that I can know no other. What Danarius has done to me is unforgivable — but what I am doing to myself is… far, far worse. Even with my memories stripped, I already carry more than enough regrets for one lifetime. And yet I seem intent on claiming more…  
_

_How can I explain? _Hawke thought, growing increasingly distressed. _I can't tell him why leaving him alone would break my heart, why not being able to fulfill my promises to him would kill me as surely as if he reached into my chest and ripped my heart out himself. _She bit her lip to keep the words in, afraid of what speaking them now would do to both of them given how close he seemed to ending things between them entirely.

_I love him, yet I cannot tell him that, _she reasoned fervently. _Not here, not now, not like this, not when he is so angry and on the verge of doing… something. Not when it would seem like I was just manipulating him, tricking him, twisting him to my own desires again. It would be underhanded and cruel to spring it on him — I'd be no better than those hunters or Danarius, lying in wait for him to be caught defenseless. It would be… reckless. Selfish. Wrong. _Still, as she looked back at him, she knew she had to say something.

"I… I don't think you truly want me to let this go, Fenris," Hawke decided to say, thinking it would buy her some time. She hoped her hesitancy didn't give her away, but she found speech remarkably difficult around him and was very unused to the feeling. "I don't think I would be helping you if I did. You are angry right now… and people do and say things they don't mean in anger. I… care too much about you let you do something you might … later come to regret."

She took a small, hesitant spoonful of porridge to keep herself from rambling. _That was pretty honest without being too honest, wasn't it? _she thought, wanting to sag tiredly after the careful effort of holding back. _Andraste's quivering thighs, I never seem to have this much trouble talking to anyone but him…_ Hawke found she could not even bring herself look at Fenris to gauge his reaction, sitting with her head bowed as if waiting for the axe to fall.

Even as her words drove back his despondency, Fenris found them confusing once more. _I do not understand, and I grow tired of it!_ he thought, anger fully shifting away from Hawke to his own frustrating disorientation. He knew her words were genuine by the tone in her voice, but he almost wished they weren't, so he needn't feel like a fool yet again. _Every time, she keeps returning, no matter what I say or do, _he thought, gritting his teeth._ Yet I cannot keep doing this, I cannot continue to do… this. Whatever this even is. Bold, reckless, fearless… whatever she is, it is as unfathomable to me as this thing between us. Clearly, I need a new tactic. No, I will not continue in this manner any longer. I cannot. I will not. _So, Fenris made the only response he could think to make.

"I see."

He began fidgeting as he tried to think of something else to say, the thumb of his left hand running across the pads of his fingertips as his mind worked against itself, both trying to refute her argument and wanting admit the truth of her words.

_I don't think you do see, Fenris, _Hawke thought, deciding to show him instead. She hesitantly reached out and ran her fingertips lightly up the back of his restless hand, knowing full well she was disregarding his earlier words not to touch him. _Instead of telling you I love you, I have to show you, _she reasoned, hoping her touch was not truly unwanted, that it would not drive him further away. She unconsciously held her breath when he looked at their hands and stilled his movements — but he did not pull away.

_Her touch truly is nothing like Danarius's or Hadriana's, _Fenris thought, growing even more uncertain and ashamed of his earlier thoughts of Hawke. _And yet I pushed her away even so. _He sat numbly, feeling little but the strokes of her touch and a profound sense of dishonor.

After a few moments, Hawke risked slipping her fingers into the loose fist his hand made, rubbing her thumb along the ring he wore on his index finger and gently caressing his knuckles. "Just because I fussed over Anders this morning doesn't mean I don't care about you too, Fenris," she explained quietly. "As the person who persuaded him to come, I have a duty to look after his well-being. And as a partner on this expedition, I should also make sure that our healer is well."

_Her reasons are her own, _Fenris thought sullenly, trying to convince himself to keep his jealousy in check. _She needn't explain herself to me… _

He stirred unhappily in his seat, frowning, but Hawke spoke before he could interrupt. "I know you think I shouldn't have brought him in the first place, but he _is_ here and he _is_ helping, Fenris." He just looked away with an unhappy look on his face. She sighed, but said patiently, "No one has gotten hurt or died, in large part because of his healing, and his Grey Warden ability to sense the darkspawn. It has saved all of us a lot of trouble." Fenris just continued to stare away, clearly disgruntled.

"Besides… even if I wish to," Hawke teased, "I can hardly send him back now, can I?"

"It was your decision to make," Fenris said indifferently, still looking to the side. He stubbornly tried to ignore the soothing feel of Hawke's touch on his hand, but found it difficult to keep from closing his hand around hers — and impossible to pull away.

Hawke chuckled at the hint of a pout on his lips. "It was. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry that I had no other choice." Fenris gave her a sideways, skeptical look, and his doubtful, sulking expression made her smile a little. "I wound up having a chat with him after you left. Anders is none to happy with me right now for whatever reason — nor I with him." She smiled a little more when Fenris blinked at that before he looked away again. "But, for good or for ill," she continued, trying to sound optimistic, "we are all stuck down here, now. So we may as well make the best of it. Right?"

Fenris wondered what words were exchanged between Hawke and Anders, but before he had a chance to obliquely inquire, Bartrand came storming past.

"VARRIC! You nughumping son of a goat's ass, I've checked everywhere in this sodding camp but over here! Ancestors below help your hairy hide when I find you… Ruining my blasted schedule so you can shirk. I'll shirk you, you shirker!"

Hawke's hand slipped away from Fenris's as she bent low over her bowl, speedily finishing her breakfast lest the irascible expedition leader notice she, too, was running behind schedule. Fenris took a spoonful of his own porridge, then added a drizzle of honey to it when it tasted flavorless to him. He ate quickly and mechanically, his thoughts detached from his meal once more, though this time it was again a jumble instead of determined blankness.

Hawke began stacking dishes onto the tray as soon as she finished, and she had just retrieved Fenris's first two bowls when he finished his meal and placed his last dish on the tray. Hesitantly she asked, "Will… you be coming back to camp to help me with the tent? I don't think I can pack it away on my own, and Varric and Anders…" She trailed off, shrugging and shaking her head.

Fenris ran a tired hand over his face, then rubbed both hands on his leggings, looking down for a moment. "Very well," he responded neutrally.

Hawke stood, facing him as she picked up the tray, smiling again in spite of things at the way his deep voice still rumbled captivatingly when he spoke so softly and reluctantly. _Andraste help me, but I am a weak woman for this man. I truly have gotten myself into a fine mess indeed._ "I… hope you'll still help me put the tent back up tonight, too," she added. "I don't think I can do it without you, Fenris."

Again Fenris rubbed his hands along his thighs, stirring a little on the bench. _When she says my name like that… _he thought, trying not to slump. The sound of it further shattered his fear that she thought of him as some kind of pet._ Her need of me… and whatever she wants of me… it is nothing like anything Danarius or Hadriana ever wanted of me. _Though it was still yet breakfast and he had gotten a restful night's sleep, Fenris found he was already too weary to properly recall the rationale of how he had arrived at the conclusion that Hawke was using him in the first place.

"Well… you did say you needed me," he replied, tone finally betraying just a hint of wryness, even though it was mostly for himself. _Every time…_

It was enough reassurance for Hawke for the time being, his noncommittal a far better outcome than the one she had feared. "I need you for far more than just helping with our tent, Fenris," she reassured him, trying to subtly emphasize the 'our' without overdoing it. Then she quickly went to return the dishes to Bodahn as the sound of overturning crates and calmly delivered explanations began emanating from behind the mess tent.

Fenris finally stood as she walked away, stretching out his back and limbs a little, cramped as they were from sitting hunched on the bench for so long. He rubbed at his tunic collar, scratching where the ends of his too-long hair tickled his neck as he waited for Hawke to return. Despite his pensive mood, he chose not to think about anything for the time being and to simply focus on getting through the day, not trusting himself to come to any logical conclusions after the morning's turmoils.

_There will be plenty of time to contemplate all of this later, _he decided as Hawke hustled her way back to him. She just barely avoided becoming embroiled in Bartrand and Varric's loud arguing as the brothers rounded the mess tent, trading barbs, excuses, insults, and explanations. _Besides, it will be much quieter in the tent tonight, and easier to think, _Fenris noted. He gladly left the noise behind as he silently fell in beside Hawke to return to the camp so they could prepare to leave out for another day's journey.

* * *

_5 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon, Evening_

The day was a quiet, uneventful, and long one. Because of Varric's efforts to give everyone a bit of a break that morning, Bartrand did his utmost to put things back on schedule — by setting a breakneck pace, keeping a hard, beady eye on everything in the expedition caravan, and squashing anything that looked, sounded, or remotely felt like wasting time. Everyone soon grew hushed, muttering a little and talking even less. The surly dwarf seemed to have eyes like an eagle, ears like a mabari hound, and of course, the temper of eight wet cats tied together, thrown into a sack, and swung about vigorously — with fists attached.

He was everywhere, and if he wasn't in the vicinity, he soon would be. As if to prove Varric's post-breakfast accusation that he couldn't do anything without his little brother, the elder Tethras stomped to and fro checking on everything personally throughout the long day's journey. Though it did tickle Varric to see his brother on a tear and he had to do little but walk and watch, it was less entertaining for everyone else. By lunch, there was an unspoken agreement that the hirelings preferred Bartrand's more removed shouting, and that they were far more content with his expectations that things be taken care of by Varric or someone else within prodigious earshot.

Hawke's group at the front, whom Bartrand left generally alone, stayed fairly reserved, too. Varric was quietly pleased to see his brother worked into a state of obstinate self-sufficiency enough that he did not want to overplay his hand by acting smug or talking too much. Anders, who appeared at the last minute from somewhere deep within the massive cavern just before the expedition moved out for the morning, had a sullen look on his face and barely spoke, despite seeming to have recovered from his hangover.

Fenris noted with a measure of satisfaction that the apostate left Hawke completely alone, and that she, in turn, rather pointedly did not bother trying to cheer him back up.

Instead, Hawke seemed to be content not to rock the boat, murmuring the occasional quiet joke or word of encouragement to everyone in general, but not striking up any individual conversations or trying to raise morale in the face of such overwhelming odds. Fenris repeatedly caught her considering him, however, though the wide variety of expressions on her face gave him no indication of what she was thinking or why she was looking at him.

For his part, Fenris spent the entire day in his usual quiet introspection, making the occasional effort at trying to untangle his thoughts and sort out his emotions about the morning and Hawke, before resigning himself once more to wait for evening — though what revelations he expected to discover in his tent, he did not really know either.

Still, by the time Bartrand finally called a rather late halt to the day's march, Fenris had managed to convince himself that his initial angry feelings and thoughts had simply been the product of misplaced frustrations, though he had worked out little else.

He had rather successfully spread the blame around, shifting it where he felt it most belonged. _I should not have gotten upset with Hawke_ _again. I was not myself,_ he thought repeatedly. He took a moment a moment to consider the dry, metallic air and discomforting staleness to the Deep Roads as he walked. _It is just this place, and constantly being around so many strangers,_ he decided, glancing back at everyone else as if to confirm the rest of the expedition was just as averse to the wretched atmosphere. He wound up noticing Anders glaring at him._ And Anders, _he added darkly.

By the evening halt, Fenris had for hours refused to any longer think the unkind thoughts he'd had before storming out of the tent that morning, of Hawke treating him as a pet or a slave._ That mage is the one I am truly angry at — I just took my anger out on her instead,_ he'd determined._ Her touch merely surprised me, so I pulled away, and she does not know how Danarius treated me or how her words might distantly remind me of him. I have not told her… or anyone else for that matter. _He clenched his jaw as he thought of what he owed Danarius for so utterly fouling his life, the perversion continuing even still, then he placed that anger aside, saving it for when he would get the chance to repay his former master.

When Hawke and Fenris pitched their tent that night in a companionable, if rather awkward silence, Fenris reasoned, _Hawke is always near and I am not used to that. I lashed out at her because she was at hand… I meant only to point out to her how that apostate was taking advantage of her. _As he folded the tent flaps open, he caught a glimpse of Anders forlornly trying to pitch his tent all by himself, throwing pitiful glances in Hawke's direction. Though she seemed to be purposely avoiding helping him, she was still slightly oblivious of his attentions all the same, as always.

Watching the healer's sad expression then turn to a hard, sullen glare at Hawke's unsuspecting back before shifting the same look to him, Fenris grew even more convinced he had done the right thing and had had good intentions in trying to take up the matter with Hawke — just perhaps lackluster execution. _After everything Danarius has done to me, is it no wonder I word things poorly?_ he thought bitterly. He shot Anders a warning, menacing look, then went to retrieve the packs as Hawke stood from tying off the last support, then went to retrieve the bedrolls.

_Hawke is well-intentioned and… kind-hearted, _Fenris told himself as he hefted the packs out of the cart. _I am just unused to such, and naturally suspicious after years of being betrayed by those around me whom the hunters pay off. But… she is not like that — I have seen as much, _he reasoned, feeling calmer and more himself as he rationally thought everything out_. _

_I will apologize to her and perhaps find some way to make it up to her_._ She is a woman — no doubt she will want to… talk,_ he reckoned._ I can tell her then. If I can manage to control myself tonight. Or get a word in edgewise. _Though he flicked his eyes up wryly at himself and Hawke both, he resolved once again that he would try harder, do his best to be attentive, and try to rein in his emotions that night.

Hawke had tried to settle the nervous flutter in her stomach when Fenris silently exited the erected tent and strode away looking grim and angry again. She found she could not watch where he was going, afraid that he wasn't going to be coming back. _Just go get the bedrolls, Marian, _she told herself firmly. _Fenris is a grown man, and he can decide for himself where he is sleeping tonight… _

Still, she went around to the back of the tent and left their bedrolls there before turning her back to the tent, not wanting to be standing around looking stricken if he deposited her pack, grabbed his bedroll, then set off looking for some quiet, secluded corner to sleep in alone.

_If only Bartrand hadn't been in such a foul mood and a rush, making us all eat our sandwiches while we walked, I could have talked to Fenris at lunch, _she grumbled to herself. _Men and their need to control things. Maker, they wouldn't last a day as a woman… always something new popping up to take care of, something to worry about on your mind, sometimes being taken by random moods, everyone always looking to you for comfort or tending, as if you were their mother… _

Then she began to chuckle, trying to imagine Bartrand as a female, with an apron and cap, waving a spoon around, haranguing the hirelings in a shrill voice — yet she could not imagine away his mustache and thick mutton-chops. _Maker, you see? _she thought, giggling to herself._ I cannot even stay angry without thinking of something funny instead. Men and their one-track minds… I almost feel sorry for them, for truly it is women adventurers… no, all women who are far more resilient._

Fenris silently set down their packs inside the tent, placing Hawke's and his in their usual, opposite respective corners. Then he heard her laugh, so left his for the moment and crossed to the back of the tent again. He poked his head through the rear flaps, trying to figure out what she was giggling at, almost suspicious that Anders had finally cornered her while his back had been turned for all of a minute — but then he saw Hawke was alone with her back turned. He took a few steps out of the tent towards her, then stopped, casting his eyes around, trying to see what it was she was she had been looking and laughing at. But after a few moments he still saw nothing, though Hawke finally turned her head and noticed him.

To his amusement, she jumped, whirled, and and gasped all at once, though he had been standing there for a time and merely blinked at her when she looked at him. _She has been in a strange mood all day, _Fenris noted, thinking back to the many different looks she had been giving him. Then he began to feel a slightly cocky smile twitching his mouth up. _But I suppose I should be flattered that so capable a woman considers me intimidating._

Hawke tried to catch her breath, both startled that Fenris had suddenly appeared behind her and surprised that he had indeed returned. "Maker's breath, Fenris," she said breathlessly, hand to her chest, "you have no right to sneak so quietly through the tent when I'm the rogue here."

"Is that so? Well… I wouldn't suggest making that a rule," he warned. "I think I would rather sleep elsewhere than have to wear iron shoes or a bell in there." Hawke blinked at him a little. "I am not a plough horse, Hawke," he said, putting a little more teasing into his tone.

Hawke just frowned. "Do they really put bells on plough horses in Tevinter? That seems like it would be very annoying during planting season." Thinking of plowing made her briefly think of John, and once more a small pang of guilt squeezed her heart. But she quickly tucked it away, knowing sadly there was nothing she could do about that relationship. _Best take care of the present, I suppose, _she thought, trying to focus._  
_

Fenris inclined his head. "They do indeed. It is some ridiculous old Dalish superstition that has carried over to the elven slaves, I believe," he explained. "Now, the magisters use it instead to keep track of where their slaves are in the field, and none can escape with the horses without being easily tracked."

Eyebrow arching a little with intrigue but mostly in discomfort, Hawke tried to shift the topic away from the dark subject of slavery. "In Ferelden, we put bells on our cows, not our horses. Except sometimes in winter, to make it… festive, I guess."

It was Fenris's turn for raising an eyebrow. "Why would you put a bell on a cow?" he asked incredulously. "It is… a cow. They just… stand there or lie there in the middle of the field, do they not?" His face screwed up a little in irritation. "All they do is… chew. Constantly. And loudly. So much… smacking." _Like Anders, _he added silently, not mentioning it though as he held fast to his resolution not to ruin the evening.

Hawke laughed heartily for the first time all day. "Oh Maker, Fenris… the look on your face." He just stood there blinking at her, shrugging a little, and overall she found him too charming to resist. "But I will have to take you to a farm some day," she said with a smile. "You can try finding and chasing down a feisty cow first thing in the morning so you can have cream for your breakfast. They can find places to hide, and they are faster and more cunning than they look when they want to be, I can assure you."

She thought fondly of the cow her family had had in Lothering, knowing first-hand of what she spoke. They did not have a farm, not really even a small one like John's family or some of the other families he often worked for, but her parents had purchased a few animals for the sake of self-sufficiency when they settled in the small town. The twins had been eleven at the time, and Carver initially had grand ideas about learning to joust on the dairy cow, whereas Bethany couldn't stop giggling and mooing back when the cow mooed at her for the first time.

So their father had knighted the milk cow Ser Moo and charged her to patrol the knolls around their new home, chivalrously protecting them from the encroachment of weeds and tall grass. But her mother knew nothing of livestock and preferred it that way, and the twins teamed up on the chicken coop, one to feeding the fiercely protective hens while the other retrieved eggs. And, up until he died, their father was busy with all the heavy work of seeing to the morning fire and carrying water. Thus, despite the twins being initially utterly enamored with the cow, it had soon fallen to Hawke to tend, milk, and round up the deceptively crafty beast.

_That all seems like a lifetime ago now, _she thought, growing a little sad. Though she knew her family's prospects were looking better than owning cows and chickens again, it felt a little hollow with their numbers too diminished without her father or brother.

Fenris was still mulling over her idea. _Going to… a farm, with Hawke? _Even though he had been following her all around Kirkwall to odd places for weeks, the thought of going somewhere as mundane as a farm with her somehow seemed even more strange to him. But he also found the idea of traveling somewhere uneventful and outside of the city with her rather tempting after the mostly pleasant time they had had together on the road to the Deep Roads entrance.

"Hmph, well…" he replied slowly, "the only farms I ever saw were mostly from a distance, cutting through fields when traveling south. I found very little to recommend the work there, preferring what mercenary work there was to be had regardless of its scarcity." His tone soured a bit as he spoke of his hard life on the run, but then his lips quirked up into a wry smile. "But… it might be worth a closer look, just to watch you run after a cow, bells, smacking, or otherwise."

Hawke smiled deeply, immediately enchanted by the hint of a smile playing about Fenris's lips and already thinking how pleasant it would be to see him in a quieter, greener, more relaxed setting again. _I was half joking, _she thought, _but perhaps I truly should consider taking him on holiday somewhere peaceful and cozy out in the countryside… He has certainly earned a bit of a break — we both will have, after this expedition is done._

As she moved towards the tent, Fenris anticipated her and held the flap open solicitously, and Hawke made a point of brushing past him close enough for her fingers to graze his free hand. "Anything you want, Fenris," she said evenly, giving him a mysterious smile, "even if that means me chasing cows."

Fenris remained quiet at the reminder of her promise and at her fleeting touch, following her into the tent after a moment. Then the two of them went about their usual evening ritual in silence, albeit a much more comfortable one, their small conversation having bridged over some of the awkwardness. Weapons were soon set aside, gloves and vambraces stowed in packs, and Fenris returned one of Hawke's crumpled handkerchiefs in exchange for a fresh, neatly folded one that she handed him even as he came across the tent to her. She set out her change of clothes and things for her wash, while he removed his belt, chestplate and pauldrons, then stacked them with his sword neatly outside the tent.

Hawke was removing her belt when Fenris returned, a thoughtful look on her face — but she glanced at him when he entered, just as he was trying to gauge her expression. They considered each other for a moment, then both looked away, each a little abashed and uncertain about the evening ahead in light of the rocky morning.

Hawke, as always, decided to let Fenris set the pace. _Well, here we are, _she thought a little nervously, fumbling with her belt buckle a little. _Yes, at least he's here. That's something… even if I don't know quite what else to do besides be here myself.  
_

Fenris, as increasingly was frequent, felt frustrated at how he continued to cause her to be reluctant despite his best efforts. _She is being rather quiet again… especially for her. I had hoped she'd… I don't know, continue talking.  
_

He stood motionless near his pack, looking distantly at her boots for a moment, realizing he had come back into the tent even though he had nothing left to do in there. Until it his turn to wash, at least, which he knew would be a while since Bodahn probably did not have any water heated yet — and Fenris always let Hawke go first regardless. He could not think of anything to say himself, but knew it would look a bit foolish to simply turn around and leave out again in silence. He made an effort at searching his thoughts for suitable small talk — however, the only thing Fenris could come up with was, _Ummm…_

"Did… you still want me to cut your hair?" Hawke finally asked, holding her belt in her hands and fingering the pouch where she kept her small pair of sharp scissors. _We can hardly stand here awkwardly all night, _she thought, feeling a bit silly for feeling so timid, but still worried that she might say or do something to make Fenris reconsider their unspoken reconciliation.

Fenris continued to blink quietly at her feet, considering for a few quiet moments. Not whether he wanted his hair cut or not, for he knew he needed it — rather he quickly got caught up remembering the pleasurable, drowsy feel of having Hawke comb his hair, her gentle touch along his ear and face, and the desire for closeness that had begun to overwhelm his reluctance just before Anders had interrupted them. He had not let himself think about it since he had stormed away, so when Hawke made her offer, and while he was standing almost in the same spot in their tent, in almost the same posture, even, it all came back vividly from memory in an almost overwhelming rush.

"I… would appreciate it, yes," he said a little numbly, roused by Hawke's nervous fidgeting.

Hawke began to smile in relief, sagging a bit before she nodded. "Very well, then. Let's see… I guess… put on your cloak, bring your comb, and we'll get you all sorted out in no time." She rummaged through her belt pouch for her scissors, then crouched to retrieve her own cloak from her pack, as well as her waterskin.

Rather confused at why he would need a cloak, Fenris wordlessly complied anyway. Carefully, he unwrapped and set aside the three bottles of wine he still carried bundled in it in his pack, then dug down to find his comb. He finally found it settled at the bottom, from how the pack had been jostled in the back of a cart all day.

Humming as she bustled out the back of the tent, Hawke spread her own cloak out on the stone cavern floor, patting it invitingly once Fenris followed her. He hesitantly swept the cloak she had bought for him when they had had to help Aveline hunt bandits in the rain over his shoulders, then sat cross-legged where she had indicated on hers. As he placed his comb behind himself near her, he cast his eyes around the area a little dubiously, but there was no one around to scrutinize him, Hawke, or their strange activities.

Bartrand had directed that everyone camp near to each other that night, so there would be no chance of anyone, mostly Varric, not hearing him in the morning, and so he wouldn't have to search as far if his brother took to hiding again. The considerably closer quarters meant it was louder than usual, certainly far louder than the night before when Hawke's group had been far on the other side of camp from everyone else. Thus despite there being no one but him and Hawke in the immediate vicinity, Fenris's ears practically thrummed with the noise of everyone else setting camp for the night.

Hawke had, as usual, requested the carts for supporting her tent be placed in something like a corner of the cavern the expedition had camped in, and the hirelings had long since retrieved Bodahn's supplies from them. Almost everyone wanted the mess tent up as soon as possible to speed dinner along, so Bodahn's crates often got priority each night. That often, as now, left Hawke's tent comparatively solitary, much to Fenris's satisfaction. He also thought back to Varric's statement at breakfast about how his reputation combined with Hawke's seemed to keep the hirelings on their toes, so with that final thought of reassurance, Fenris set his suspicions aside and settled into a more relaxed posture.

Hawke set her scissors and the waterskin aside by Fenris's comb and knelt on her cloak behind him, curling her fingers under as she took in his handsomely angular, elven profile. A sudden temptation to just wrap her arms around him and plant a kiss on his cheek surged through her, nearly overwhelming her better judgement before she caught herself._ Focus, Marian_, she warned herself. _You'll get to handle Fenris plenty while you trim his hair for him… Behave otherwise, girl. Did you learn nothing this morning? Maker… _

Keeping quiet and giving him space throughout the day had been difficult for her, especially given her increasingly frequent daydreams about him, but Hawke was determined not to mess up the evening by rushing things to make up for the lost time.

"All right, Fenris," she said in a pleasant, business-like tone, to keep herself professional more than anything, "what length do you prefer?" She hesitated only a moment before she sank her fingers into his slightly unkempt hair, easing out the minor tangles from the long day so he could properly show her.

As her hands brushed against the tips of his ears and her fingertips massaged his scalp, Fenris nearly sagged as all the tension of the day and the harrowing night before fled before her touch. The simple gesture was wholly unlike anything he could remember, and just the feel of gentle tugging here and there on his hair set his spine tingling. He found it difficult to even decipher what her question had been, let alone how to answer it as his mind went quite blank from the unexpected pleasure.

Hawke noticed how quickly Fenris began to relax, so she didn't rush him, content to take her time and just enjoy a quiet, close moment with him again. _We have plenty of time — he isn't getting me to leave his side for anything tonight, _she thought, picking up his comb. _Well, except to wash… perhaps, _she amended with a wry smile.

As she began to slowly pull the comb through his hair and took care to avoid raking his ears by gently placing her fingers alongside them, Fenris sighed quietly, for she caressed them softly as she did so. Already in a languorous daze, he thought distractedly, _I should probably explain to her about elves' ears eventually,_ _before she gets into any… misunderstandings with any other elves._

Soon however, she began to comb alongside his neck, and Fenris roused slightly, suddenly realizing she probably would need to touch him there while cutting his hair. He blocked out the feel of the comb and focused on the location of her hands, trying to gauge the feel of her touch as she neared his markings. He had not yet felt any burning pain from her touch there, despite how he had slept with her hand pillowing his face, which inevitably and pleasantly lead her to stroke the very bottom of his ear and along his jaw, just where the forked markings ended. Without pain to alert him, he could not say for certain if she had simply avoided touching his neck markings at all, or if perhaps, like his hands, she somehow did not rouse the sensation of searing and burning alongside his neck.

_Even if it does hurt, I can bear it, _Fenris thought defiantly, already steeling himself as she reached around to comb out the uneven fringe of hair along his forehead. _The pain will fade, as it did last night. And then it will feel fine. _He willed it to be the truth, holding the memory of her pleasurable touch on his chest from the night before like a shield in his mind.

"All right there, Fenris?" Hawke asked gently, pausing as she noticed his back stiffen. "Just tell me if you're uncomfortable."

"I am fine," he said stubbornly, sitting up a little straighter. Though he disliked that she so transparently saw through his nervousness and was quick to make allowances for him, he acknowledged that his irritation was wholly with himself. As he had resolved to try harder, he carefully kept it from tainting his enjoyment of Hawke's attentions.

"I usually just lop it off about here," Fenris continued, finally answering her question. He held his chin straight and indicated with his right hand alongside his neck a length equal with his jawline.

Hawke hastily swept his thick hair away from his face before pulling her hands back and leaning to the right. "I'm sorry, where did you say? I wasn't looking."

"Here," Fenris repeated, indicating again with a hasty swipe of his finger.

She combed his shaggy hair aside from his neck, holding it back with one hand and up over his ear with the other as she leaned forward a little more. "You'll have to be a little more specific, Fenris," she said with a chuckle at his vague gesture. "I need a proper reference if I'm to keep you from looking terribly crooked."

Fenris ground out an impatient sigh, reaching over his shoulder and plucking her right hand from his ear. With more boldness than he truly felt, he pressed her hand against his neck and placed it at the proper height.

"_There_," he said hoarsely, managing to keep his quivering to a minimum.

Hawke held very still for a few moments after Fenris placed her hand over his neck markings, just in case he changed his mind. He left his hand over hers, and she was reminded of the way he had guided her hand away from the markings the other night when he had first let her caress his face, as well as the way his hand had tightened over hers on his bare chest the night before. She was also still concerned enough from his morning outburst to be extra cautious not to take liberties.

Fenris felt an almost electric thrill twice over, from the feel of her touch and the fact that no pain accompanied it._ Venehdis,_ he swore at himself, then began wordlessly chastising himself for continuing to be such a coward. He did not understand why his markings didn't burn as her hand continued to press against his neck, but he was beyond grateful for it and too tired of his seemingly constant state of bewilderment to let questioning it diminish his victory — or the feel of Hawke's touch. _I could get used to this, even though I do not understand it, _he thought a little distractedly.

Hawke eventually remembered to breathe as Fenris's thumb stroked her fingers for a moment. Then his hand slipped away, and he went back to sitting patiently on the cloak. She took a deep breath, then rather numbly thought, _Well, I suppose this is a good sign. _

After another moment, she swept her hand very lightly across his neck, trying truly to judge how short she needed to cut his hair while also savoring the new opportunity to touch him. "I see," she said quietly as she looked him over. Then she chuckled a little to herself as she realized she'd used the short, hedging phrase she'd noticed Fenris himself so often relied on. Hawke set the comb down and swept the hair back from his left side, hesitantly putting her hand on that side of his neck, too.

"So, about here, then?" she asked, gently putting pressure about the height he had indicated.

Fenris cleared his throat before speaking, not wanting to sound hoarse as yet again he surprisingly felt no pain and his mouth went dry at the possibilities. "Ahem. Yes, I think that would be… sufficient." He knew the length should give him at least a few weeks or more until he need worry about it getting too long again. _With Hawke's assistance, however, _he thought tentatively, _it might need not be such a chore…_

"I'm going to dampen your hair a bit so the trimmings don't get all over, all right?" she said, tone professional once more though she began more broadly sweeping his locks back, letting her fingertips trail where they may without worrying about his markings.

"Very well," Fenris replied slowly, eyes shifting around somewhat dubiously as he briefly worried Hawke was going to pour out her waterskin over him where he sat. He had never had a proper haircut before, left entirely to his own devices while a slave, when Danarius would merely declare he looked a slovenly wretch and command he do something about his hair. Though the magister always criticized his appearance and often punished him almost randomly for not looking more presentable, Danarius naturally never gave any thought as to how Fenris was supposed to accomplish any of it.

Fenris sat up a little straighter as he heard Hawke pouring a slow trickle from her waterskin, realizing she must be cupping it in her palm. Indeed, he soon felt her rubbing a small measure of water into his locks, and she repeated the gesture a few times until his mop of hair was sufficiently damp.

"There, that's not too wet now, is it?" Hawke asked brightly, massaging his scalp. She noticed that Fenris remained rather blissfully silent again as she worked her fingers through his wet hair, so she just continued for a minute. Then she picked up the comb and quickly straightened it all again, not wanting it to start to dry, letting it trail over his ears and hang down in front of his eyes so she could begin.

"It is fine," Fenris finally responded, once again reveling in the strange sensation of being groomed. Even though having wet hair hanging in his face felt a bit odd, especially when he was otherwise dry, he found he was more unused to the feeling of having someone else tend to him. _I would probably take more care with my hair if it felt like this when I did it, _he distantly mused, thinking of the way he reluctantly tugged at his hair with a few token strokes of the comb in the mornings before heading out for the day.

Hawke quickly tucked the hood of Fenris's cloak under, careful not to brush against his back. "There, we don't want hair getting into your hood, now do we?" she explained soothingly when he arched away from her a little, craning to look at her activities somewhat suspiciously. Then she chuckled at bit at how he looked somewhat bedraggled. _It always looks worst just before it starts to look better, _she mused.

Then she picked up her scissors and took him by both shoulders, squaring him off properly. "Sit just like that, Fenris. This won't take too long, I promise." He nodded in acknowledgment as she made a few more passes with the comb, which made her laugh. Patiently, she urged, "And no nodding or moving your head. Look straight ahead and keep your chin level — you don't want to come out looking all lopsided, trust me."

Fenris nearly shook his head at the complicatedness of the proceedings, then stopped himself. "As you say, Hawke."

She heard the heavy, unspoken sigh in his voice, so his terribly tolerant response made her giggle a bit. "We'll get through this together one way or another, Fenris. No worries."

He sat quiet and very still as she began to snip, his eyes blinking and flicking around as he felt her movements and wondered what was going on behind him. He could feel her warm touch, the fleeting press of her metal scissors against his skin, the occasional steady strokes of the comb pulling his hair outward, then the cold dampness as shortened locks fell back into place and loose snippets of hair fell away and stuck to him.

"This feels… much more involved than what I usually do," he carefully observed after a few minutes as Hawke worked her way around to his left side.

She smiled fondly, keeping her eyes on her task. "You deserve a bit of pampering after everything, Fenris. Just enjoy it — I am."

He nearly turned to regard her, then remembered himself, merely raising an eyebrow instead. "… _Pampering_?" It sounded too much like coddling for his liking, reminding him of Anders.

"Yes," she said airily, combing out his hair again and holding the straight edge of the comb alongside his jaw to check the length. "Even terribly fierce warrior adventurers deserve to be indulged a little bit from time to time, don't you think?"

"It is just a haircut, Hawke," he pointed out, grumbling a bit. _I do not need… pampering. What am I, some willowy Orlesian noblewoman? Next she will be spraying me with… perfume… _he thought dourly.

"It is," she agreed solemnly, raking her fingers through his hair a few times before moving to his other side. Then she leaned down to murmur in his ear. "But I will ensure that is the finest haircut you've ever had."

He chuckled at that, since it was in essence his first haircut ever and thus the finest by default. "I have no doubt that it will be," he said evenly, smiling crookedly to himself at his own irony.

Hawke trimmed up the back of his right side, alternately humming and tutting to herself as she fussed to get everything even and straight. "Yes, that looks much better already," she said after a few minutes of leaning to and fro, eyeing, combing, and trimming here and there on both sides until his hair was evenly well above his collar again, just where he wanted it. "And now for the rest of it…"

Fenris continued to hold still as Hawke paused to sweep bits of hair off of his neck, though he shivered a little when she leaned down and blew sharply at a stubborn snippet that would not budge. "Be sure to scrub well when you wash," she instructed. "In fact, you go first tonight. I don't want you to have to sit around feeling all itchy."

He flicked his eyes up in resignation at her allowances, but Fenris decided to humor her. "As you wish." In truth, he found the evening going easier than he had expected, his mood much improved from her attentions, and he realized he felt almost as content as he usually was upon first awakening lately. _Her touch indeed feels… right, _he noted. Hawke soon moved to sit beside him, facing him, and he shifted his gaze over to her as she began tugging at the hair that lay over his ear. Fenris was slightly amused to note out of the corner of his eye that the tip of her tongue poked out between her lips, just as it usually did when she was disarming traps.

It reminded him for a moment of the fleeting feel of her tongue licking his thumb that morning, before he caught ahold of himself. _Always so mindful of me, _he mused instead._ Perhaps it is because she treats me as though I am some kind of explosive mine? _Wryly he wondered if it wasn't a little too fitting an analogy, especially after his behavior that morning. _She is rather fearless in the face of such dangers… though I suppose she would just say, 'Well I am a rogue, Fenris.' _His lips curved up into a slight smile, for he could almost hear her voice and teasing inflection in his head.

Hawke carefully cut the hair around his right ear, trimming it so it could be tucked behind without leaving it shaggy. "What are you smiling about?" she asked with amused suspicion as she caught the hint of movement about Fenris's lips.

"Nothing," he said, voice teasingly neutral. "Just… enjoying my pampering."

Snorting softly, Hawke leaned over to smile at him. "Good," she said firmly, smiling even more deeply when he smiled back.

Then she returned to her work and began snipping her way forward from his ear again, evening out the somewhat jagged edges from his previous haircut while still keeping the overall attractive sweep of his hair. _He looks terribly handsome as it is, so I see no need to change anything. I will just neaten it up so he looks even better, _she thought with deep satisfaction. After a few minutes, she was leaning around to his front again, reaching out to brush a few bits of hair from his face, then plucking at his thick fringe of hair to check her handiwork. "This half of you looks perfectly handsome, anyway," she announced with aplomb, thumb brushing along his cheek for a few lingering moments.

Fenris could feel his face start to flush, so he stirred and inclined his head to the left, clearing his throat sternly. "Well, what are you waiting for, woman?" he said, tone mock severe. "Surely dinner will be ready soon. You know how I _starve_."

Hawke's smiled until her cheeks dimpled, and she let her fingers slowly trail along Fenris's jaw and over to his neck. "As you say, serah. Right away, serah," she cooed solicitously, letting her voice go a bit breathless. She pretended to check the length of his hair and brush a few loose snips away one last time as she stroked his long, graceful, elven neck with the backs of her fingers.

"Hmph." Fenris stared straight ahead after making the mockingly impatient noise, trying to keep his face blank though her caresses made him want to close his eyes and lean into her touch. _No, it did not take long to get used to this, _he thought with satisfaction and contentment, pleased with the evening thus far and rather proud of his self-control. _Everything goes much better for me without mages around, _he observed wryly.

Hawke shifted to Fenris's left side, repeating her careful attentions and tidying up the rest of his hair. She was confused to find the hair on his left to be quite a bit shorter than the right, then imagined that since he was right-handed, he had simply reached overhead and hacked at it, resulting in the unevenness with which she now fussed. _And yet it works for him, _she sighed, once more envying his naturally striking, attractive hair. _The last time I tried to cut my own hair like that, I wound up looking like Carver by the time I got it evened out… So how does he manage to look so good? Men… it is so unfair how easy they have it, even with their hair._

Fenris began to stir a little and scratch at his neck, so she finally decided she could be satisfied with the left and moved to kneel in front of him instead. He gave her a look of slight reluctance as she leaned over his lap, his eyes flicking up to watch her hands as she combed through his fringe and parted it the way he usually did, pushing most of it to the right. It almost looked too neat that way, so she set the comb aside after making a few final snips. Then she used her fingers to tousle all of his hair a little, smiling distantly at how a few stubborn pieces seemed intent on laying in the wrong direction leaving him looking adorably unkempt and delightfully rumpled even as he looked much tidier.

"Andraste's purple curly wig, Fenris, you have quite a head of hair," she said admiringly, even as she cast one last critical eye over her work. "Hmm, but, I guess that should just about do it."

He rubbed at his brow, then tugged a length of hair out, eyes straining to look up at it. "It feels… right," he said with a shrug. "And better. Thank you, Hawke, I am sure it looks very… um…" He searched unsuccessfully for an appropriate word for a few moments.

She reached out to undo his cloak clasp so most of the loose hair would be contained before he stood up. "Fine?" she suggested with a smile. She knew it was the word he often retreated to whenever thanking her for anything.

His eyebrows went up and he smiled a little as he eyed her arms, which were very close to almost embracing him as she brushed off his neck and shoulders. "Yes… fine," he said with a quiet chuckle. It had indeed been the word that he had finally settled on. _I suppose she is getting used to me as much as I am getting used to her_, he thought.

He stretched his back and loosened his neck once Hawke sat back on her heels, working out the stiffness of sitting still for so long. Then, growing itchy and grateful that she would let him wash first, Fenris tilted his face down, brushing bits of hair up and away from his tunic collar. He could feel that the length of his hair felt right indeed, and he found he was very grateful for Hawke's help in making the historically odious task of seeing to his hair so easy and painless. _Once again, she is being far kinder than I deserve, _he thought with a small sigh,_ especially after my unworthy behavior this morning. She does not know what her assistance truly means to me. I should thank her again, properly._

"Hawke, I…" He glanced up through the somewhat shortened curtain of hair that still hung in his eyes, only to notice that Hawke was staring at him warmly again. When their eyes met, Fenris once more was struck by the depth of the open tenderness in her gaze, and the memory of their morning encounter washed through him. He soon forgot what it was that he was going to say, remembering only his desire to pull her close.

_Oh dear, caught again, and with no excuse this time, _Hawke thought. "I'll go bring you a nice hot bucket of water," she said, thinking quickly as she brushed his hair aside once more. "And just leave the cloaks, I'll take care of those too."

Diverted, Fenris rubbed his hands against his leggings, looking around futilely and growing a little embarrassed as he realized how unused to all of this he was. _I did not think about the mess. I should not let her do even more for me. She has already helped me much — too much, in fact. _"I can take care of it myself, Hawke," he said. "You have done enough already."

She was already standing, however, shaking her head. "Remember what I said this morning? Just because you can do something for yourself doesn't mean you should have to. Really, it would be my pleasure." _Maker's breath, what was I thinking, making Fenris look even more desirable,_ Hawke groaned inwardly as she looked down at him._ This will not help matters at all. And neither would watching him carry buckets. _In spite of her distraction, she gave him a teasing smile. "Better go get your things ready before you starve."

Fenris remained sitting for a few moments after she headed around the carts towards the mess tent, trying to fathom what he already knew he found unfathomable. Still determined to make the best of things though, he decided, _If this is truly how she wishes to spend her evening, then I should go along with it. I said I would be more attentive, and she says this brings her pleasure… And it costs me nothing to graciously accept her favors — on the contrary, in fact. _It all felt much more reasonable and rational than things had felt for the better part of the day, so he did not question it further.

Content with Hawke's desires, Fenris stood and brushed himself off thoroughly before heading into the tent, hoping he wasn't leaving a trail of itchy white bits of hair in his wake. Just in case, once inside he unbuttoned his tunic and carefully slid it off, reaching his arm out of the rear tent flaps to shake it out vigorously. Then he went to rifle through his pack, carefully avoiding knocking over the wine bottles that sat nearby. As he pulled out a change of clothes, though, he gave the wine a second look.

_I should offer to open a bottle for dinner, _he thought, immediately noting how the idea seemed right to him. _I did bring it intending it to be something familiar and comforting to share with Hawke in this wretched place. _A plan of having some wine and polite conversation, reverting to what he and Hawke had so often done at The Hanged Man, seemed a very fitting and practical way to Fenris to make things up to her.

He easily could see how some wine would be ideally suited for ensuring their evening would be far less angry than their morning or the night before had been. _Yes, I will ask Hawke. She asked after it the other night, and she often talks about 'smoothing things over' with drinks. _He shook his head, chuckling a little at all her little quirks and mannerisms that were becoming familiar to him. _It has not even been a week since we last shared a bottle at The Hanged Man, yet indeed it feels like much longer._

He was still crouched in the front corner of the tent smiling to himself and rummaging through his pack when Hawke returned, slowly backing her way in with two steaming pails.

"I brought you an extra half-bucket just for your hair," she explained with a distracted smile, keeping her eyes on her task as she tried not to spill. She had heard Varric buttering up Anders around lunchtime to use his ice spells to top off the water barrels, so decided it would be all right to indulge Fenris a little. _Still, best not to mention the details, _she decided, not wanting to speak of the apostate around him after his dissatisfaction with Anders that morning.

"Thank you," Fenris replied easily, watching her slow, careful movements over his shoulder, entertained by the care she took. He decided that even if she did slosh, however, he would not tease her about it — too much.

"But I picked a good day to do this," she added, setting the buckets down for him without spilling a drop, "for it isn't such a long walk to see Bodahn for water today. Rather feels like cheating, actually, after you walked all that way yesterday for me." Then she brushed her hands off and straightened, smiling over at Fenris.

She froze however when she realized he was shirtless, and she looked away again before her eyes began greedily scouring his back. _I wish he would stop doing that, _she thought, lamenting her weakness for him. Then she shook some sense back into her head. _Wait, no, I don't! I just wish… this wasn't all so awkward… Or in a dim tent, for the Maker's sake…_

"I'll… leave you to it," Hawke said, glancing sideways at him and trying to sound cheerful while still respectfully not staring. She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the rear of the tent. "I'll uh… just go take care of shaking out our cloaks."

Fenris remained crouched near his things, decidedly not huddling. He ignored the way the markings on his back seemed to prickle with anticipation, reasoning the itch was from his haircut and not Hawke and a desire for her touch. "A good plan," he responded slowly.

Hawke began to back away, figuring from his tone that he had to be feeling as awkward as she. "You needn't worry about setting a guard on me," she joked, trying to lighten the mood again before she left — though she did steal one long glance at his bare back once he turned back to his pack. "I'll be quite… um… busy." _Probably gnawing my knuckles off, but at least I won't be peeping… _she thought wryly.

As the tent grew quiet, Fenris gathered up his things. Then he noticed the wine again and stood, turning to the back of the tent as he remembered he had intended to ask Hawke if she was agreeable to the idea of sharing a bottle. He paused as he realized she was still standing there, then forced himself to unconcernedly continue his activities.

"I was wondering…" he said as he went over to the wash buckets, halting Hawke in her tracks even as she resumed edging her way out the back. He somehow managed to keep his voice normal as he noticed the way she was eying him. "Would you like some wine with dinner tonight? It has been some time since we shared a drink. I just thought… perhaps…" He met her eyes when he shrugged, quietly taking in her dazed expression. Even as it unnerved him a little, he once again felt more confident and worthy under her gaze — perhaps even a little cocky.

Hawke nodded, straining not to overdo the movement, for her body wanted to rather badly to be moving and doing anything other than just standing there. "That sounds excellent, Fenris," she said smoothly, clinging to her last shred of calmness as she tried to avoid being reckless. "Brilliant, in fact. Thank you. You are too… generous." _I almost said gorgeous. Maker, I need to get out of here…_

_It is hardly generous, _he thought, _since I, too, enjoy drinking wine. Especially with her. Still, it is something I can do for her. A gift I can give to her in return… freely. _He inclined his head and smiled at her, raising a hand to scrub through his hair meaningfully, to indicate he was merely reciprocating her own kind gesture. Then his smile began to deepen as she fidgeted more, seeming to be somewhat struck by his simple motion. Just as he had discovered that morning, Fenris found he rather liked how she was not put off yet still was not wholly unaffected by his appearance. _I could see myself wanting to be looked at like that… on occasion, _he mused a little heatedly.

_Andraste's sweet ass, yes, _Hawke thought fervently, both at his idea and his artless allure._ I definitely could use a drink tonight. Several, in fact. If ever a day called for wine, this has been it, _she decided firmly. "Well, I had better go before your water gets cold. I'm sure you've got to be as… hungry as I'm getting." _Almost another slip… damn my tied tongue… _She hastily backed out of the tent before she utterly lost control of her mind and body both.

Despite the strangely satisfying feeling of flustering Hawke in her own tent, Fenris waited until the sound of flapping cloaks and her booted footsteps faded into the distance before he stripped off his leggings to quickly bathe.

After taking care of their cloaks, Hawke went to perch tensely on their usual bench, the one set up directly across the fire from their tent. Anders and Varric were nowhere to be seen, but she was content to wait alone, truly determined to spend as much time with Fenris as she could that evening. _After missing him last night, then getting to wake up to him shirtless, only to have no time at all to even lunch with him today…_ she thought as she folded their cloaks. _Then his utterly… divine display in there, running his hand through his hair, all bare armed, bare chested, with those… those warrior's muscles of his, and his… blasted navel and every other delicious bit of him…_

She shook her head, trying to recover. _Maker, fifteen shoed and belled Tevinter plough horses could not drag me from him tonight. It is no wonder I was rather stunned when he got jealous this morning, after all that… touching he let me do last night. Still, he seems to have understood what I said at breakfast, _she thought with both relief and nervousness. _I had feared I wouldn't be able to make my point at all, let alone without overdoing it, but perhaps I am not as much of a basket case as he makes me feel._

She suddenly realized her leg was bouncing rather rapidly, and she pressed her hand to her thigh to still herself. _Then again, _she thought, smoothing out her armored skirt, _I still rather feel like I am about to go off like a smoke bomb. Boom, poof, then just… dissolve. 'Where's Marian?' they'll ask. 'Just gone. She exploded because of an elf, you know.' _Her other leg began to bounce, so she pressed both her hands on her thighs, staring sternly at her lap. Her armor only reminded her more of Fenris, however. _Insufferable man, the way he teases me, _she thought._ First he gets angry last night, then this morning he is extra-lovely and sets out all my armor for me, then when I realize he isn't going to leave and I get up the nerve to change in front of him, he doesn't even watch!_

The sound of splashing water caught her attention, and her thoughts scattered again. _And here I thought staying at his mansion was difficult… _she remembered distractedly. _It was barely a warm-up for this expedition. I keep plotting about how I'm going to take Fenris up on his hospitality and invite myself over there when we get back to Kirkwall, but I can hardly stand even this. _

She began drumming her fingers against her legs. _Then again, I'm sure a nice, long, hot bath would help relax us both… and I distantly recall him offering more Agreggio, too… _Her lower lip got a good thrashing while she envisioned sharing both with him at once. _Yes, just need to make it into the tub, and the rest may very well take care of itself. Nothing like drinking in a hot bath to wash away all one's nervousness, reluctance, and cares…_

She realized then that she was attempting to stare holes through their tent's canvas and looked away, letting both her legs bounce freely as she sat on her hands. _Andraste's fidgety fat fingers, I will need to be careful not to be this energetic at dinner, lest I be called out on it again. Going over to raise morale with the hirelings is not going to be an option tonight — and besides, it only worked until I returned to the tent. _She did her best not to think of what sorts of things would be able to burn away her excess energy.

_If only Anders hadn't interrupted this morning, _she grumbled to herself with a frown. _Everything was quite nice this morning until that point. I thought for certain Fenris and I were about to make up for arguing the night before… _She sighed, remembering the feel of his hands on her waist and the heat of the determined look in his eye. Then she began to wonder what he'd been working himself up towards doing, but soon decided not to torment herself.

_Then he tore off in a pique and Anders was hovering right outside the tent, waiting for me. I couldn't even take advantage of the solitude to… ahem, 'be alone,' because Anders could have come bursting in at any moment. _She let out a frustrated, throaty growl and slumped forward with her chin propped in her hands. _Men! Is it no wonder I am going crazy, surrounded as I am by nothing but men? They are utterly oblivious of everything! No chance for privacy around them… _Then she snorted. _Well, except for Fenris, who is not most men and gives me rather too much privacy. _

She ran both her hands through her hair in frustration. _Maker… What was I thinking, bringing both him and Anders along? The two of them together make wrangling Carver seem like sitting beside a choirboy. At least he was just one man — and my little brother, so I had some good dirt on him. But either Fenris or Anders on a bad morning, least of all both of them? I would not be surprised to see some gray hairs in my brush in the morning. _

She let herself have a good, agonized sigh over it all. _Well, unlike most of Carver's antics, at least Anders's intrusion was unintentional, _she told herself. _Though when he went stomping away from his tent after our talk, it did rather look like he wished he could go tattle on me to Mother or something. And I still do not know what that was all about… though I am still quite cross with him, I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it has something to do with Bethany — and there is nothing I can do about that, since neither of them seems to want to discuss it with me. _

_Well, perhaps it is for the best. All couples have their share of little quarrels they don't wish to discuss with others, _she thought, smiling wryly to herself. _At least Fenris and I have a head start on that score._

A bright flash of light from inside her tent caught her attention, and Hawke's eyes snapped to it in concern. _Fenris's markings again? _she thought with dismay. Then he nudged his pack out front of the tent, with only two wine bottles poking out of the top of it

_Wine,_ she suddenly remembered, feeling relieved._ I had almost forgotten about that. He must have used his lyrium talent to uncork the bottle again. Maker… I am entirely too wound up tonight and my mind is becoming overtaxed. _She rubbed at her neck and looked down again, trying her best not to think too hard about his markings, how they shone through his clothes, or the feel of raw power in his touch when he used them._ Damn, I wish I could have watched… but perhaps it is for the best._

Hawkes sighed heavily in resignation. _Let us hope the wine will relax me. I will have a cup as soon as we sit down to dinner to calm myself. And then I will fill up on stew, and it will make me delightfully content and sleepy. It smells like Bodahn is making some kind of sausage and potato stew. Very hearty and filling and relaxing, no doubt. Just the thing. Mmmm, sausage… _Then her mind shot off in all the wrong sorts of directions at that, and she slapped a hand to her forehead.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Hawke, whatever it is," Varric said, plodding tiredly into camp.

Hawke looked over, grateful for the distraction, then gave the younger Tethras brother a sympathetic look as he pulled up in front of her with his face screwed up in a dark grimace. "What's Bartrand done now, Varric," she said wearily, not even needing to ask who was behind his misery.

He flicked an impatient gesture into the air. "He spent the better part of the last hour stomping around the hirelings' camp, grousing about everything from the amount of firewood they use, to how they tie their tents down, to how their burping is half a note off from E sharp." Hawke chuckled as he continued on his rant. "I was just over there, trying to keep the talk of shanking him to a dull roar. I don't even know why I bothered. Now I want to shank him myself, and they could have saved me the trouble of whittling down a bench leg."

Patting his shoulder, Hawke made appropriately soothing coos. "Awww. Do you want me to stab him a little for you, hmmm?"

"Yes. No. Maybe… Ask me later." Varric smiled distantly as he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I had hoped he'd run out of things to bitch about after his busy day today… but no, apparently he's as full of complaints as he is of shit."

Hawke patted him again. "There, there. Everything will be fine. And what's the worst that can happen if it isn't? You'd probably rather enjoy seeing Bartrand being dwarf-tossed around."

Varric snorted at that, chuckling and laughing until he began to full-on cackle. "He would kinda look like a big, round, red leather ball sailing back and forth through the air, wouldn't he? A loud one, but… Maker! It would be worth the temporary hearing loss."

Fenris listened in on their conversation with keen ears while he dressed, trying to imagine anyone throwing Bartrand anywhere with the fists the expedition leader had and was not shy about using. _I suppose I am fortunate to be working more with Hawke and Varric than with Bartrand, _he thought, slightly amused that for once he wasn't the worst one off on a job.

He looked down at himself, taking uncharacteristic care with his appearance, brushing, adjusting, and tugging at his clothes. He had decided he would probably get some scrutiny for his haircut regardless, so figured he might as well look presentable while enduring it. He also somewhat hoped his efforts would please Hawke. _It is only right after the care she took in trimming my hair, _he reasoned, not wanting to diminish her handiwork by looking disheveled.

"The hirelings seemed in decent enough spirits after a little unwinding last night when I was over there," Hawke said once Varric's laughter quieted a little and he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Maybe you should go back over there once they've had their dinner tonight. If they were content with my lackluster stories about growing up in the middle of nowhere in Ferelden, I'm sure they'd really perk up for your storytelling, Varric."

Anders came striding into camp from the other direction as she spoke, pulling up short of where Hawke and Varric conversed, staying instead nearer to his bench. "Oh no. No. I am _not_ going back over there, not for a good long while," he said, joining the conversation with a vehement shake of the head. "Just the thought of having more ale poured down my throat makes me want to lie down for a week."

_No one asked you, Anders… _Hawke thought grumpily. She just gave him a rather cool look, however, and kept her thoughts to herself. _I will need to speak to him eventually but… not tonight, _she thought a little flatly.

Varric rather ignored him too, scratching at his stubbly chin, eyes already gleaming at the thought of an audience. "That might not be a bad idea, Hawke…"

She smiled encouragingly over at him. "I'll pass on returning tonight, myself. No doubt they want a break from hearing about what it was like being a little girl on the bannorn, and I'm not sure what Fenris…" She trailed off into a stunned silence as the elf himself exited their tent. _Sweet benevolent and merciful Andraste, what have I done to deserve this?_

She blinked as she took in the sight of him, freshly washed, freshly cut hair perfectly tousled, wearing a clean pair of leggings and his fine silk shirt, holding a loosely corked bottle of wine, and best of all, seeing how his green eyes focused on her. _I am definitely not leaving him alone tonight, _she thought, mouth going dry. _In fact, he might need to beat me off with that giant sword of his…_

Fenris felt the corners of his mouth curving up in uncharacteristically shy satisfaction as Hawke looked at him. _I suppose I did not waste my time, then, _he thought, striding over to their bench to retrieve his cloak and set down their bottle of wine. He ignored the way Anders scowled at him as he passed, but he actually chuckled when Varric made a low whistle.

"You get a haircut, elf?" the dwarf asked.

"I had most of them cut, in fact," Fenris replied evenly.

Varric cackled. "An old joke, but a good one — guess I walked right into it. But who would have thought I'd ever see you, of all people, wearing black?"

Hawke glared and smacked Varric's bare chest with the back of her hand. _I swear on a mountainous stack of Chants, if he makes Fenris self-conscious enough that he changes out of that delicious silk shirt, I will dwarf-toss this short little man myself…_

Varric rubbed at his chest with a wince, then cleared his throat. "I mean… black is definitely your color. Goes with your brooding." Hawke's eyes narrowed and her mouth screwed up tightly. "Just kidding. It, uh… suits you, elf. Very slimming." He gave Hawke a helpless look, eyebrows going up as he shrugged. "And it brings out your eyes, or… some shit," he added in a mutter.

She shot him one last warning look with a hint of forbearance before turning back to Fenris with a smile. "You look very nice tonight, Fenris," she said as amiably as she could, trying to keep the raw heat out of her voice. _If not for his warrior's appetite, I would almost suggest skipping dinner altogether and just sticking with wine in our tent, _she thought heatedly, holding herself rigid on the bench so she wouldn't fidget.

"I'm sure it is mostly thanks to you, Hawke," Fenris said graciously, gathering up his cloak. He glanced at her before turning away. "I will just see to my pack and the other wine bottles, then bring you your water."

Hawke smiled broadly up at him, rather forgetting about their audience. "You are far too good to me, Fenris, thank you."

"Always a pleasure," he said quietly.

Anders made a quiet noise of disgust then snorted softly, which Hawke chose to ignore for the moment as Fenris returned her smile with a small one of his own. Then she watched him walk away, praying fervently, _Maker give me patience, but I am having equally sinful if opposite thoughts about these two men the moment. Andraste, keep me from throttling one and throwing myself onto the other, I beg… _

As Fenris crouched to wrap the remaining two bottles of wine in his cloak and tuck them away again, she turned a hard, narrow stare at Anders, wondering what was still eating at him. But the mage was already heading off to the mess tent, swinging his staff rather vigorously as he strode away again.

Hawke watched him suspiciously until Varric nudged her in the arm. "Who kicked Blondie in the balls?" he asked quietly when she turned to him. She raised an eyebrow, but he just pursed his lips and thrust his chin after Anders. Seeing his expression was genuinely concerned, she turned back to watch the mage slump down alone at their usual table, though Bodahn did not yet have dinner ready.

Hawke shrugged tiredly, waiting until Fenris disappeared into the tent before she spoke, keeping her voice low so as not to risk upsetting him with more talk of Anders. "I haven't the foggiest," she whispered. "Anders got in quite a mood with me this morning, well after his hangover was mostly gone, but I have no idea why. Normally, I would say maybe it was just the Deep Roads and his Warden thing… but then, didn't I overhear him tell you near lunchtime that the darkspawn all feel surprisingly distant?"

"Yeah. I don't get it either." Varric look disappointed. "Oh well… I was kinda hoping there'd be some interesting story behind it, like last night he broke down in tears pining for milady Sunshine, or maybe got fresh with you while he was drunk." Hawke just gave him a look of resigned incredulity, and he shook his head, rubbing tiredly at his brow. "There's just no good gossip to be had down here," he complained. "It's all who doesn't go far enough from the camp to use the privy in the middle of the night, and who said what about his favorite male whore in his sleep…"

Hawke sighed heavily. "Truly it is the lack of _gossip_ that will kill us first down here if we are not careful," she noted wryly. "Forget darkspawn, dehydration, starvation, cave-ins… and of course, your brother…"

"I know!" he agreed immediately. "Apart from that day when Bodahn's kid took off and we stuck it to Bartrand finding a way around that collapse, I don't have anything interesting to say at all about this expedition so far." He huffed in disgruntlement, frowning, and Hawke just rolled her eyes a little.

"Our poor, gossip-less Varric…"

They both looked over as Fenris left to empty his buckets and retrieve Hawke her hot water. Hawke smiled at Fenris again when he glanced at her, and she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose as she watched his backside retreating. _I might not mind giving the expedition something to gossip about, _she thought, biting her lower lip a little.

Varric began staring too, only up at the ceiling. "I am getting truly sick of staring at stalagmites. Or are they stalactites? Shit, I don't know," he grumbled.

"Hmmm?" Hawke asked absentmindedly, not shifting her gaze.

The dwarf chuckled, glancing over at her then following her line of sight. "Never mind, Hawke. See you and the elf at dinner. Or not, as the case may be."

"Right… Dinner, Varric…"

_I had better take a very quick scrub, else I risk getting very carried away with myself once I am alone in our tent, _she thought distractedly as she kept her eyes glued to Fenris._ The last thing I need is him out here alone, waiting for me, looking like that, while I'm in there… well. _She cleared her throat and stretched a little, trying to loosen the tension she felt throughout her body. She glanced at the bottle Fenris had left on the bench beside her. _Thank the Maker he decided to bring wine._ _Needless to say, I could really, really use some about now…_

* * *

As planned, Hawke hurried through her evening wash and was dressed and ready for dinner just as Bodahn started dishing up the first bowls of stew. Fenris seemed content with her wish to immediately get some food, though usually they waited for the hirelings to thin out a little before heading over to the mess tent. He did, however, ask her to carry the wine and collect their bowls while he took care of her bucket and rolled out the bedrolls, which she considered both a very good trade and terribly sweet of him.

As they settled in across from each other at the table, Hawke was a little curious to note that Anders was once more absent, despite seating himself at the table earlier. She decided it was probably better for everyone involved, however, and found she did not wish to expend more energy on puzzling out his poor mood.

Instead, she happily went to pour herself some wine, but Fenris reached across the table and gently caught her wrist, shaking his head.

"Just drink from the bottle, Hawke. The wine might taste more dry than usual, but I doubt these wooden tumblers would improve the flavor of it either." He eyed his own rough-hewn tumbler skeptically before filling it with water and taking a sip. The unlacquered cups imparted a slightly wooden taste to even the cool water, and Fenris knew that there would be no vintner worth his salt in all of Thedas who would buy wine stored in barrels made from whatever sort of wood had been used to make the travel cups, sturdy though they were.

Hawke eyes flicked from Fenris's lips to the bottle, a smirk spreading slowly across her face despite her best efforts. _I suppose I could be contented with sharing a bottle with him in lieu of kissing those generous lips… for tonight. _She toasted Fenris with the heavy bottle just as Varric arrived at the table with some stew and as many ale mugs as he could carry. "To the victor of last night's Wicked Grace," she said breathily, winking at Fenris and then saluting Varric with a grin.

Fenris hesitated for only a moment before he smiled cockily and raised his cup of water, inclining his head. Varric just pursed his lips and blew out his breath in a huff, making a rude noise as he set his ales in a row. "Pffft. He got lucky, Hawke, that's all. If he had gone a full round like I suggested, skill would have won out eventually."

"You are the one that suggested an abbreviated game," Fenris reminded him before accepting the wine bottle from Hawke and having a hearty sip. "It was a wise decision," he declared as he lowered the bottle. "Better to get the experience of me besting you over with quickly." He placed the wine back down between himself and Hawke then began hungrily digging into his stew.

Varric and Hawke both just chuckled, and Fenris was once more struck by how much finer things went for him without mages around. _If Varric is going to the hirelings' camp but Anders has refused to go along with him, perhaps I should encourage Hawke to retire early tonight, _he thought, eager to avoid having the apostate ruin his carefully thought out evening.

The three of them each supped contentedly and quietly, filling up a little before they started in on any companionable mealtime banter. Hawke savored a few bites of Bodahn's fine, savory stew, then drank some more wine, smacking her lips appreciatively. "Maker, it has been too long since I had a drink." She smiled gratefully when Fenris glanced at her as he tore up some flatbread to wipe his first bowl of stew clean. _I love the happy look on his face when he's enjoying his food, _she thought warmly as the wine already began to melt away her tension.

"You are very thoughtful, you know that?" she added suddenly, wiggling her toes against his foot under the table. Since the camp was so crammed together and the floor was remarkably smooth, as it was in most of the Deep Roads, she hadn't bothered to put on her shoes. Fenris's feet, as usual, were bare too, since he rarely bothered to pull his gaiters back on after he washed up.

Fenris's eyebrows went up a little at her sudden candor and tingling nudge, but he just shrugged in response and went back to eating his food. _I still have one more bottle, as well as a bottle of the Agreggio, _he thought, remembering how particularly keen he had been to bring the expensive, deceptively potent bottle of wine along. _Better to save it for a special occasion, _he decided, not actually acknowledging his sudden desire to retrieve the bottle.

"I don't know why you two insist on turning your noses up at ale," Varric mused, slurping the foamy head off one of his many ale mugs. "Then again, more for me, I guess."

Hawke looked over at him, her face going deeply ponderous and suspicious as she considered him for a long moment. She took another long sip of wine before she spoke.

"Varric?" she finally asked.

He didn't look up from his stew, but he did not seem surprised when she addressed him either. "Yeah, Hawke?"

"With all this…" she waved her hand around searchingly for a moment, "expedition stuff to carry down, how is it that you convinced Bartrand to bring so much ale?"

Varric finished tearing up his flatbread into his bowl then steepled his fingers as he gave Hawke an enigmatic smile. "_Hawke_… this is an adventure," he explained smoothly. "What do the details matter? When we're fabulously wealthy and sitting around in our plush golden chairs being fanned with purple ostrich feathers while we tell the tale of how we became so insanely rich, no one is going to ask for mundane details like 'But how'd you carry all that ale?' or, 'Did you wash your socks out every night or every other night?'"

Hawke rolled her eyes, snorting loudly. "_Fine_. Keep your secrets then." Then she poked him in chest. "But I'm on to you and your crafty ways of getting things done all… underhandedly."

He held his hands out to her, palms up, shrugging. "There's nothing underhanded about me, Hawke. I'm a simple storyteller, a feckless layabout, and sometimes I smuggle ale under my own brother's nose. And every morning, I put my priceless, mystical, enchanted pants that were given to me by a Nevarran princess who wove them out of moonlight and dragonhair on one short leg at a time, just like everyone else."

_Not everyone else, _Fenris thought, retrieving the wine bottle and taking a pull as he thought about the way he usually put on his leggings, which was to simply lie down and haul the snug garment up both legs at once, hips raised. He found it rather difficult to do standing, with his own long legs and the tight fit of his pants. He knew he _could_ do it standing, and had often had no choice as a slave, but once he was his own man, he much preferred the easier and less precarious method.

"I wear a skirt though," Hawke said, protesting as well. "Well, usually. It's what I put on in the morning, anyway. Both legs at once, even." Hawke looked under the table, happily stretching her legs out, though still mindful of Fenris's, smoothing her hands over her thighs as she spoke. She was, as usual, in the gray, cropped pants of her comfortable evening attire, and it was getting a bit rumpled from constantly sitting in her pack.

Fenris leaned slightly to peer under the table, curious at her behavior. Then he judged that the wrinkles she was fussing with hardly diminished how well her clothes flattered her. As he straightened, he thought instead more closely on her comment about her skirt. It reminded him how she'd put her armor on that morning while he sat in the tent with his back to her, suddenly imagining that her shimmying into her armored skirt all at once would be the most practical way of putting it on, having inspected it himself that morning.

_That would also explain all the… jingling, _he realized. He shifted on his bench a little, leggings feeling even more snug than usual.

"I like how you ignore the part about my Nevarran magic pants and go straight to how I put them on," Varric groused. "I must be getting rusty. Good thing I'm going over to dazzle the shit out of the hirelings tonight… Apparently I need the practice."

"I'm sure I'll be getting a mixture of horrified and awed looks at breakfast, Varric," Hawke said consolingly. "I have the utmost faith in you, my official biographer."

"Aww, thanks, Hawke," Varric said, sounding cheerier. "That coming from a woman who sweet talked the Witch of the Wilds into flying her to the Free Marches means… well, it means a lot to me."

Fenris stiffened and gave them both an apprehensive look, but Hawke waved him off. "I didn't sweet talk her, and she didn't fly me to the Free Marches. I just delivered an amulet for her," she explained. He didn't look very comforted by her clarifications. "I'll tell you about it some other time, Fenris," she promised, not wanting to talk about witches, mages, or magic with him and ruin his mood again.

He let it go for once, and they all fell silent again as they finished eating, Fenris not having much to say as usual, and Hawke focusing on her food and not fidgeting. _A very pleasant evening so far, _she decided,_ and I intend to keep it that way_. _But I really should remember to compliment Bodahn on his cooking. That he can whip up such a good stew down here is a marvel. _She and Fenris both seemed to enjoy how well the wine complimented the good meal, too, and between them, they finished the better part of the bottle rather quickly.

By the time they all deposited their dishes on the tray, Hawke felt pleasantly languid and was growing more content with the day overall. _It wasn't all bad. Waking up this morning was very good, _she thought fuzzily, smiling. _Right up until Anders showed up. _Her face crinkled into a pout, and she found she was indeed glad he had not come to dinner. _I cannot believe how much he distrusts Fenris. My Fenris is a wonderful man. _She snorted as she tried to stand, keeping one hand on the table and scooting her way free of the bench with a little difficulty. _My Fenris… awww, doesn't that sound nice._

Fenris eyed Hawke suspiciously as she stood, watching her slight wobbling and how her face rapidly changed expressions. Then he eyed the bottle of wine, feeling a bit flushed and warm under the collar himself. _Well, at least for once I understand the reason for her behavior, _he mused_. _He himself felt perfectly controlled when he stood, however, so he decided she probably felt the wine because she'd had far less food than he. _And she is a woman, _he thought, a lopsided smile quirking one corner of his mouth as he thought of her nights of brandy and how quickly the Agreggio had affected her during the lunch at his mansion. _Fortunately, she has me to protect her and keep her from doing anything reckless, _he thought with a rather confident swagger as he retrieved the wine bottle.

"Come, Hawke," he commanded, gesturing when she continued to stand there, smiling distantly to herself. She started, then nodded and moved to his side. He turned and lead her the short distance back to their camp, trying to look menacing despite the fine figure he suspected he cut that evening.

She followed closely, rubbing at her stomach a little and yawning behind her hand. Then she looked around smiling at the hirelings, soon growing puzzled that none of them waved or smiled back, despite how the Fereldans she had spoken with the night before had seemed to enjoy her conversation. "Everyone is in such a strange mood tonight," she whispered loudly to Fenris as they left the mess area behind.

"It is just this place, Hawke," he explained, waving his hand around. "We have been down here for five days. It is undoubtedly starting to take a toll on everyone."

"Oh. Yes, you are probably… ah, right," she said, yawning again. "Sorry, dinner has made me a bit tired." She perked up then as if remembering something, then slowed a little, looking around herself and down at her empty hands. "Where's the wine?" she cried, a little more desperately than she meant to. She peered in front of and behind Fenris as she caught back up to walk beside him, making a silent 'oh' face when she observed the bottle in his hand as his arm swung.

Fenris chuckled. "I have it, Hawke, never fear." _This woman worries too much…_

Hawke stopped when Fenris stopped, then looked up, blinking a little as she realized they stood in front of their tent. "I'm not _that_ tired you know," she explained, trying to look more awake. "We don't have to go to sleep yet." _Maybe I shouldn't have rushed us to dinner. And filled up on delicious wine and stew. _She pressed a contented hand over her full belly, then considered Fenris's. _Hmm, unless he plans on stripping that shirt off and letting me rub his chest again, _she thought suddenly, her slightly fuddled mind working a bit to consider his motives.

"Unless you want to," she quickly added, giving a loose, very casual shrug. "Up to you, really. I'm fine with… _anything_." Hawke hoped she didn't overdo her sly emphasis on the word, though she rather heatedly thought, _Hint, hint, Fenris…_

Taking in her coy expression and meaning_,_ Fenris thought, _It is good that she drinks with me_. _She has a tendency to become rather… brazen. _He found himself smiling indulgently nevertheless. _Yes, perhaps she cannot hold her wine when she drinks it that fast. Or perhaps she is already losing her tolerance after less than a week. She is just a woman, after all…_

Still, he felt a slight need to be cautious around her."I thought perhaps you would want to… talk," he explained solemnly, holding open the tent flap for her and gesturing politely for her to proceed. "While we finish this." He tilted the wine bottle, which he held inside the tent, to and fro, and the remaining wine sloshed noisily and tantalizingly.

Hawke's face perked up. _Look at him, mister ready to talk! Hmm, perhaps the wine has loosened his tongue a little. _Then she began to wonder just how loose it could get. _Tent plus wine plus Fenris? Maker, yes…_

"You know me only too well, Fenris," she said with a dimpled smile. As she brushed past him to enter, she boldly dared to lay her hand on his chest, giving him a quick, affectionate pat before letting her hand slide away. She continued to smile as she plopped heavily down onto her bedroll, for she had clearly felt the chain of his wolf pendant through the silk. _It is so adorably sweet that he doesn't take it off, _she thought, sighing sentimentally. Hawke settled into a comfortable seated position on her bedroll, stretching her legs out and propping herself up with her arms as she leaned back.

Fenris closed his eyes and sighed quietly at her touch, marveling at how the thin silk blocked the pain he had felt the night before while still letting the heat of her hand through to warm his chest. _I am growing used to much. And to have her touch me without hesitation, for there to be no reason for me to hold back… _The possibilities began to swim lazily around in his mind._ My shirt covers even more of me than my tunic — I need not even worry about my arms. Perhaps we truly could…_

He heard footsteps and became instantly alert again, opening his eyes and casting a cautious glance around. His immediate suspicion was unwarranted, however, for it was just hirelings and not Anders. Fenris found himself unused to and uncomfortable with how they had to walk right past their group's small campsite, though there was no helping it with the way Bartrand had demanded camp be laid out that evening.

Varric passed by leading a rather eager-looking audience of humans and dwarves alike, saluting him with a nod. "Night, elf. See you in the morning."

Fenris nodded back cordially, then quickly disappeared into the tent when the hirelings started gawking a little, trying to peer in as if looking for glimpses of Hawke. _Yes, _he decided protectively, _it is good that I decided she should have some privacy. It would not do for her to become overly familiar with those other men. She is too kind-hearted, and it is just a matter of time before someone else takes advantage, like Anders already does…_

"You and Varric seem to be getting along well," Hawke observed with a smile as Fenris took a quick drink of wine.

"He is much better than his brother… and a decent Wicked Grace opponent," he offered casually after lowering the bottle. He handed it to Hawke and she accepted it, taking a quick pull herself as he sat cross-legged on his bedroll, facing her. His shirt tugged uncomfortably at his neck as he sat, so he tugged the tail of it out from beneath him, then undid a few of the top buttons that he had done up solely because he didn't want the others scrutinizing his markings at dinner.

Hawke remained uncharacteristically silent, and Fenris caught her quietly considering him yet again when he looked up from pushing his shirt collar open and adjusting his sleeves. "What, Hawke?" he asked, tone a little bit exasperated, both curious about and slightly disquieted by her frequent stares throughout the day. _Perhaps like brandy, the wine will pull some truth out of her and it will help me get to the bottom of this… thing between us, _he thought with a small measure of frustration.

"Just admiring your shirt again, Fenris," she said coolly, setting the wine bottle above their bedrolls. "It's not every day a poor Fereldan refugee like me gets to be near such finery. Can I help it if I am somewhat overcome with awe?"

He shook his head, chuckling resignedly at her sidestepping but not willing to press her on it. _If she wants to keep her little secrets a bit longer, I can continue to play this game._ "You have been near my shirts for a full week," he pointed out, goading her a bit with his mock serious tone. "Five days down here, camping outside of the Deep Roads, the night you stayed at my mansion. Are you truly still that fascinated with them? If so, perhaps I should just give you one to avoid all this scrutiny…"

"You and your silk shirt logic." Hawke just snorted and waved him off, the wine offering her a measure of petulant immunity to his quick-witted maneuvering. "A week. You usually put them on just before I go to sleep. And you didn't even wear one last night." Then she paused, remembering how she had wondered if he'd slept shirtless the night they camped in the humid cavern, when she had been asleep both when he came to bed and when he rose. "Or the night before that," she added slyly, waiting for him to correct her.

"True. You have me there, I suppose," he conceded, amused and impressed that she took on his challenge and matched him. _Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she is not as intoxicated as I thought. _Then Hawke's head suddenly lolled back and she started drumming her legs before crossing and uncrossing her ankles in a manner he found a little distracting. _Then again…_

"Terribly unfair…" she muttered under her breath, trying to control herself. _I knew it. Insufferable tease of man, teasing me insufferably in my own tent when I don't even know it… He's lucky I don't set fire to his shirts and make him go bare to the waist for the rest of the expedition…_

Fenris absentmindedly rubbed his sleeve along his forearm as he considered her while she settled down again. "If you are truly that curious, you may… borrow one if you wish," he added with a shrug. The sudden thought of seeing her in one of his shirts was intriguing enough that he didn't hesitate to offer as the idea occurred to him.

Hawke's eyes shifted over to him speculatively. "Hmmm… I _just_ might take you up on that, Fenris," she said, rather provocatively. _I'll even let you warm it up for me a bit first…_

Fenris shifted a little, feeling a slightly urgent need to lighten the mood again. "But… only if you let me borrow your fine silks," he added, trying to keep a straight face. "Once we return to Kirkwall and you become a wealthy noble."

Successfully diverted, Hawke began to laugh, imagining him in an Orlesian gown, or worse, a skirt like he had been so keen to suggest to her. "All that talk the other day of Varric in a low-bodiced dress has you envious, does it?"

Fenris shrugged, distantly remarking that he felt pleasantly loose. "I don't know. 'You never know until you try' — is that not how the saying goes?" He smirked a little as he relaxed into a comfortable slouch, propping his forearms on his knees. _Yes, a little wine and easy conversation with a beautiful woman is indeed a much better end to this day than I could have imagined after being awoken this morning by that mage, _he thought, feeling rather proud and cocky for successfully turning things around.

Hawke looked into the distance for a moment. "Varric may look good in blue, but I will likely stick with lovely red silks," she said wistfully. Then she sat up and leaned towards Fenris, taking the open edges of his shirt between thumb and forefinger, feeling the silk. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable borrowing something other than black?" she warned with a chuckle.

Fenris lifted his chin and turned his face aside to give her access as her fingers slid up and brushed along his neck as she straightened his shirt collar — which he knew full well was fine from the earlier care he took when dressing. "It could be orange with green stripes and it wouldn't matter," he responded dryly. "I could hardly be any more conspicuous, especially in Hightown."

Hawke frowned at him, then pressed the tip of her finger against the tip of his nose and wiggled it. "None of that, now, Fenris," she scolded warmly. "Who cares what those dandies in Hightown think of you, me, or the price of butter, for that matter?"

Slightly in a haze and taken by surprise at her gesture and her zeal, Fenris tried to look at the end of his nose, her hand, and her expression all at once, straining his eyes a little. He rubbed at them, sighing. "I think you will find the price of butter increases infinitely when shopkeepers notice you are a strange elf who looks rather… sticks out. You cannot buy at any price when they refuse to even have you darkening their stall, Hawke."

"Pssh, their butter is all overpriced anyway," she said scornfully, turning to sit fully facing him. "Besides, we have all your things delivered so you needn't worry about dealing with the likes of them. And the Lowtown merchants buy straight from the nearby farms, and it's all so deliciously… mmm, country-fresh."

Hawke wriggled slightly, clasping her hands together before staring off into the distance again. "Oh, I cannot wait to get back to Kirkwall and have some fresh-baked bread just utterly slathered with sweet, creamy butter." She sighed heavily. "I do like Bodahn's food, but eating essentially the same thing every day down here gets a little old."

"Hmph," Fenris grumped with a measure of amusement, not doubting that she would indeed pursue her craving since she so often doggedly pursued whatever it was she wanted. "Well, I will not say that bread and butter does not sound appealing, but… food is food. Having two hot meals a day on this expedition is certainly more than I am used to, anyway."

She reached a hand over and began to run her fingers over his. "Ahh, I had almost forgotten the sad, sad state of your rusty kitchen. I'm sorry — of course, you are right." He kept his eyes down on their hands and just shrugged a little, so she gave his fingers a light squeeze. "Naturally, once I have my family's estate back, you will have to come to dinner. Very, very often," she offered sweetly. _Then stay for breakfast,_ she added in her head, feeling delightfully scandalous.

Growing warm with wine and genuinely touched by her invitation, Fenris reached over and cupped her chin in his hand, brushing her lips with his thumb for a short moment. _She is entirely too giving and kind,_ he thought, feeling all the more affection for her since he knew she likely had no idea how much simply being well-fed meant to him. _I do not deserve any of this, _he thought, though as she smiled against his thumb he knew he was growing used to it all the same.

Still as he pulled back and rested his arm on his leg again, he chided with a chuckle, "Surely you will not be so rich as to spend all your coin seeing to my warrior's appetite. Besides, I doubt your sister and mother would appreciate me… always showing up and lurking about."

Not needing much emboldening in addition to the wine, though she was inspired by Fenris's gesture, Hawke leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips. "Hush," she replied with fond sternness. "You may _call_ upon me and _visit_ my house as much as you please. And you know I enjoy seeing to your appetites." She let her fingertip graze his lips a little as she talked before pulling away, wondering when Fenris suddenly looked down if even that small token of affection had managed to fluster him._ Wait, what did I even say? _she thought, memory a bit cloudy from her warm relaxation.

_Soon she will be always near,_ he thought, staring down at his lap, _and with such an invitation, and her promises… _Though thinking about the future had never been his strong suit, Fenris felt both flush and flushed with the possibilities.

Hawke did not think on her words for very long, instead squeezing Fenris's hand again as she brushed his hair out of his eyes. So there would not be an awkward silence if she had indeed said something that embarrassed him, she began rambling amiably as she continued to run her fingers through his hair.

"It is very sweet how you always worry about my coin, Fenris, but you needn't worry about eating me out of house and home. I enjoy our little talks over dinner, and besides, you can always bring some wine. You have a fine eye for wines, and no doubt it will take me some time to stock my own cellar. Oh, but you might have to help me with that! And as for Mother and Bethany, well… Mother has said nothing but nice things about you, and of course Bethany quite adores you. Besides, when Bethany cooks, she still tends to make entirely too much food, as if Father and Carver… were… were…"

Hawke didn't realize what she was saying until she had already said it, and her voice trailed off hoarsely as the weight of recalling her family's losses hit her rather suddenly and hard.

Fenris looked up, though her hand was still lodged his hair, gripping it tightly — but her face was already turned down and away from him. He could still make out enough of her expression to see that indeed she looked saddened and stricken, her bottom lip trembling alarmingly. He pulled her hand free from his hair and squeezed both her hands in his, growing concerned things would lead to tears. "I am sorry," he said, keeping his voice calm, hoping it would lend her some measure of composure. "I didn't mean to bring up unhappy memories."

Hawke shook her head, sniffling a little before she looked up, smiling at him wanly. "No, it's all right. They aren't unhappy memories, just a little… sad, that's all." She sighed, slumping down as she began working her fingers gently between his. "I have been too busy to think on it much lately, but… even if we don't get the estate back, any house we live in will always be far too empty."

_I suppose I can understand that about her, at least, _Fenris thought. _I know only too well how empty even a full common room at an inn can feel. And she and her family… they undoubtedly have memories to constantly remind them what I only distantly feel is missing. _He looked away quietly, feeling acutely the vague emptiness that always seemed to pervade him, then eventually stared down at their hands again.

Fenris had left his fingers pliable, allowing Hawke to do as she wished, but as he watched her nimble, supple fingers tenderly ply his own, he began to touch her back, turning his hands palm up and running his fingertips along her hands. It suddenly dawned on him how close they were, knees and toes nearly touching as they each sat cross-legged on their bedrolls facing each other. Their closeness only seemed to be intensified by the dim and muffled interior of the cozy tent, the sounds of Varric's storytelling and hireling chatter outside seeming very distant.

"Listen to me going on…" Hawke groaned quietly, rousing herself out of her reflections and thinking back to how selfish she had felt when examining her role in causing Fenris's earlier jealousy. "But what about you? All alone in that big mansion. What of your family, Fenris?"

He stayed quiet for a while, feeling grieved himself, though he kept his fingers moving, focusing on Hawke's closeness to drive back a little of the lonely ache in his chest. "You worry too much," he said more easily than he felt, though he spoke quietly. "Do not concern yourself about me and my squalid mansion."

Continuing to wait patiently for a proper response, Hawke remained silent, though she began to smile distantly down as she traced the lines of lyrium on his fingers and palms. _I sometimes forget how little he talks about himself, _she thought as focused on his hands. _I truly should make more of an effort to draw him into real conversations and find out more about him. How else can we expect to understand each other better?_

Fenris said nothing for a few moments, just feeling everything, both without and within, distractedly wondering how it was possible to still feel alone with Hawke in front of him, touching his hands more intimately than he had ever let anyone touch him. _I had not expected her to ask. I had not expected anyone to ask. I had not expected anyone to care. _

"As for my family?" he finally said to break the silence. He still searched for something to say on the subject, not wanting to talk about how he could remember nothing of them, not even if there was anything to remember, but knowing he could not just stay silent — and he did not even consider lying to her. Still, he did not want to dampen the evening further with his missing past, nor did he want Hawke's pity or to trouble her thoughts when she was already carrying her own grief.

"The less said about that the better, probably," Fenris finally said, though he did try to soften the dismissal. "It is a subject for… some other evening, perhaps."

Hawke stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I understand," she replied. _Well, I will continue to the make the effort, but I still must remember not to rush him. I am sure he will tell me when he is ready._ She found it easier to let her disappointment go as she reminded herself, _We have plenty of time. I am not going anywhere, and it seems like neither is he. We will get there eventually._

They sat in silence for a little while, just twining and untwining their fingers aimlessly while muted sounds of Varric's storytelling and the hirelings' awe filtered in through the canvas. Fenris hoped that Hawke's hearing was not good enough to make out that Varric was telling the story of how she had killed an ogre as she fled Lothering, since he knew that was when her brother had died.

"At least you still have your mother and your sister," he pointed out reassuringly, wanting to fill the silence for her just in case she could hear. He gazed down at nothing in particular as he kept an ear out for Varric's tale while also still wondering a little about his own family.

"Yes, of course. You're right," Hawke agreed quietly. Then she added with a chuckle, "And thank you for not including Gamlen. It was very astute of you not to run afoul of my tender loathing for my dear uncle."

Fenris felt a palpable sense of relief at her laugh, for once grateful of her less acute human senses. Still feeling enough warmth from the wine to augment the sudden loosening of his tension, he found he was gladdened enough that he tickled her palms lightly with his fingertips, hoping to keep her small smile from fading.

"I try not to run afoul of anyone," he explained proudly, "especially a woman with daggers who knows both how to use them and where I sleep." He began smiling a little as Hawke couldn't help but giggle softly and recoil to scratch her nails into her itching palms.

"Someday I am going to find out where you are ticklish, and you are going to regret all these heartless assaults on me," she threatened amiably, poking him in the chest before leaning over to retrieve the wine bottle.

Again reminded there was no pain from her touch, Fenris rubbed at his chest and absentmindedly adjusted his pewter wolf pendant through his shirt as he watched Hawke take a long pull from the wine bottle. He rather unabashedly watched her throat, thinking back to the morning before when he had massaged her and felt her swallow as he caressed her neck. _We were very close indeed, and she seemed to enjoy my touch then… _Between the wine he had already drunk and the wine he was watching her currently drink, Fenris began to feel rather bold, wondering if he might be able to get closer now, and what her touch on him might feel like.

"I am almost tempted to let you try," he replied smoothly, though he noticed his voice sounded a little deep even to his own ears.

Hawke made an appreciatively sultry noise and handed him the bottle, and he considered his next move carefully as took a long drink himself. _We are running low on both wine and time this evening… I… should probably not delay any further, _he decided._ We should both be suitably at ease by now._ Fenris looked appreciatively at the bottle when he lowered it, very satisfied with himself that he had decided to bring it along and had thought to offer it tonight.

"We… were interrupted this morning. Twice, in fact," he began, going straight for the heart of the matter. His noticed his voice sounded a little hoarse, then attributed to the dryness of the wine. He rotated the nearly empty wine bottle in his hands, pressing on. "That is why I though perhaps… we should speak tonight."

Hawke grew attentive, hands resting on her knees as she listened, gazing at Fenris's face as he spoke without looking at her. "I always enjoy talking with you, Fenris," she said encouragingly. "This morning… the interruptions… It was just… one of those mornings." She shrugged helplessly.

"Hmph. Was it?" Fenris grumbled, mostly at himself for allowing the events of the night before and the morning to get to him. He clasped the wine bottle in both hands, holding it in his lap as he stared down into it. "Well, regardless, I did not help matters — quite the opposite in fact. I should not have said what I did. I was not myself, and I spoke harshly to you in anger. I… did not mean it. It was… just as you said at breakfast."

Hawke tilted her head, smiling at him as she reached out to caress his downturned face. _Aww, he listened to what I said at breakfast? He didn't say much then, but clearly he has been thinking about this. _She felt like the warmth of the wine she had drunk was overlaid and enhanced by a glow of adoration for him.

Fenris felt the fire of his wine simmering in his stomach as much as the heat from Hawke's hand, and it helped him keep his resolve. He looked up at her and determinedly met her gaze. "Though I should have given it to you far earlier today, I hope you will accept my apology now. I am sorry."

Hawke patted his cheek easily, feeling very relaxed and gracious. "Of course I accept your apology, Fenris." Then she looked down and began prying his hands loose from the wine bottle, more hesitantly adding, "I only hope… you will accept mine."

Fenris relinquished the wine to her, giving her a confused look as she raised the bottle to her lips. "I don't see what you have to apologize for," he said, brows drawing down. "You are your own woman, Hawke. What you choose to do… who you choose to aid…" He shrugged tightly, trying not to let his tone belie the disgruntlement he still felt towards Anders. "You are free to do as you wish."

It had taken him the better part of the day to convince himself all over again that his jealousy and anger had been unfounded, and the better part of the evening to work up to apologizing, so he was rather unsettled that she thought she had need of his forgiveness. _Unless there is something she did not tell me, _he began to think darkly_, or unless I do not understand this after all_._ Fasta vass…_

Hawke took a slow, small sip, letting the red wine coat her tongue as she tried to keep her composure so she wouldn't say anything too revealing. _I might be a little teeny tiny bit tipsy, and I don't want to say something reckless, _she thought, trying to think soberly about what reassurances she could give him as she handed back the nearly-empty bottle.

"Perhaps what you say is true…" she said carefully, "but, I never meant to give you the impression that I cared less for you than… Anders." Fenris swirled the last of the wine around in the bottle as she talked, staring at it with an inscrutable look on his face. "He's… no threat to you, really, Fenris."

Fenris looked up sharply, scowling. "He is dangerous, Hawke. His willful ignorance about the dangers of magic and that spirit inside him makes him a threat, and a very grave one at that. He is a danger to himself and to all of us. Moreso because he insists he is not. Do _not_ be fooled by him."

"I, um…" Hawke tried not to laugh, scratching at her forehead, then rubbing at her eyes. _He thinks I meant some kind of magical or physical threat. Maker. How am I supposed to get him to understand? _"I do understand your concerns about him and Justice, Fenris, and I have taken them to heart. In fact, I ran afoul of his… single-mindedness about it all just before breakfast. It is why he is unhappy with me today, and why I am none too pleased with him either."

Fenris set his mouth in a flat line. "Hmph." _Well, at least perhaps now she takes it seriously. Though now I wonder what it is that he could have said to her that caused her offense. If he has insulted her…_

Hawke sighed, waving her hand. "But enough about him. I was talking about you." She looked down rather shyly and her hands began fidgeting in her lap. "Us…"

Though she spoke rather softly, Fenris could hear the weight of the word as it fell from her lips. It gave him pause, then made his mouth go a little dry. He decided to alleviate it by draining the last of the wine, but he felt rather drained himself as he lowered the empty bottle, slumping forward while tightly grasping it as he rested his forearms on his knees again.

_Us?_ he thought, numbly puzzling over their relationship again as he waited for her to continue. _Hawke and I. We. Alone but… together. Us. _Very logically he knew the words made grammatical sense, so he wondered that it had pulled his thoughts up short when she said it.

Hawke struggled to find the right words to say, trying to think back to what she had been hoping to tell Fenris that morning before things had begun to unravel. Then, taking in the sight of his guarded posture, she shifted herself, folding her legs under her and sitting facing him more squarely. _I need to tell him something after this morning so he doesn't continue to have so much uncertainty about this._

"Just know that I do care… very much," she said with more confidence than she truly felt, a little fortified by the wine. "And I meant what I said earlier this morning. You _will_ always have my help. I didn't just mean a haircut, of course. I meant… well, anything." She ran both hands through Fenris's hair, letting the neatly trimmed strands slip through her fingers.

Fenris sagged even further down at her words and her touch, the last of his reservations washed away by the combination of wine and tenderness. "I do not understand _why_, Hawke," he ground out with a sigh, finally vocalizing the question that had been plaguing him for days. He found he was no longer able to keep it in, Hawke slipping unexpectedly under his guard as she so often did.

Hawke let her hands press against his jaw, her fingertips lightly brushing his neck as she tilted his face up to look at her. "Does there need to be a reason?" she asked with a quiet chuckle, still holding firm to her decision not to rush him with declarations of her love before he was ready. "You've helped me lots, right? In fact you've helped me even when you disagreed with me, though you didn't have to."

Her vague answer made Fenris grit his teeth, for he had been hoping that she would clear up at least some of the questions and confusions that had been plaguing him. He was also dismayed that she did not understand the reasons for his own help, despite what he had tried to convey to her that morning. _Fasta vass, I feel as though I have wasted my time all over again. Can I not accomplish anything today?_

Hawke let him go when he looked aside with a vexated growl of a sigh. Then Fenris stood to discard the empty wine bottle before he wound up shattering it in his tight grip.

"As I told you this morning, Hawke," he explained again, trying to restrain his frustration, "and as I told you the first night we met — I will find a way to repay you for all you have done. I do not know how yet, but… I am trying. I cannot not abandon my debt to you. I will not." He placed the empty bottle into the rear corner then straightened, reluctantly turning back to face her. "The hunters… arranging things for me… asking Aveline to overlook my borrowing a mansion, and… everything else," he said with a defeated shrug. "No one… no one has ever done half so much for me."

As he stood in the corner of the tent looking aside at nothing, Hawke felt a deep sorrow, thinking once more at how alone Fenris had been through all his adversities. It reminded her of her father's life as a mercenary, of her own past year struggling to keep her family afloat, of Anders, the hirelings, and so many of the refugees and people in Kirkwall she'd met who seemed to be fighting just to make their way through life. _Everyone feels so alone in this world, and would that I could help them all… _she thought soberly._ But above all, I am here for Fenris. I am not leaving his side, especially not tonight._

Hawke stood and went to him, gently resting both hands against his chest. She smiled as he looked down at her hands, then up at her face. "You aren't alone anymore, Fenris," she explained. "You needn't be. I will help you when Danarius returns, then with anything else you want or need to live your life as free and happy as you deserve."

Her words coiled around Fenris's heart, making his chest both squeeze and swell at the same time, the slowly throbbing pressure as palpable as that of her hands gently rubbing him. He thought of the possibilities, of a life without his past and Danarius's influence constantly hanging over him, of truly gaining his freedom, of reclaiming things he wanted and needed yet could not even remember ever knowing. He found the idea of happiness was as alluring as the sum of all his best dreams combined — yet part of him just could not bring himself to believe he deserved any of it. _Not after the things I have done, _he thought, shaking his head. _There are reasons why I cannot set aside my debt to her. I could not live like that, not with even more hanging over my head… I can barely live like this. _But he knew he could not explain to her why.

"If there is one thing I have learned well, Hawke," he said instead, "it is that very few get what they truly deserve."

Somberly, Fenris thought, _The Fog Warriors deserved better than what they received from me in return for their help. And Danarius and Hadriana and countless other magisters deserve to die, yet they live in luxury and continue to plague this world with their very existence. Hawke deserves… far more than I can give her, yet I can barely remain civil with her, even at the best of times, it seems. _He looked at her again, then down at her hands pressed against the silk of his shirt. _No. I think I already have more than I deserve, and yet I do not appreciate it even still. _

"Everyone deserves freedom and a chance at love and happiness, Fenris," Hawke urged quietly. She paused, realizing she'd slipped and inadvertently mentioned love, but she pressed on anyway. "Sometimes… sometimes I think the reason this world is so full of ills is because so many people are denied a fair chance at those things, and men and women often react poorly or desperately when they lack something vital. Then they inflict things on others, and the problem only multiplies…"

She sighed, rubbing her hands over his chest for a moment before she gave him a roguish smile. "Usually those problems keep going until they find me, and I wind up having a fine mess on my hands. But I always try to set things right." Then she gave him a meaningful look. "It's just sort of what I do." _I would work tirelessly to see you had everything you needed, wanted, and deserved, Fenris, _she wished she could tell him._  
_

Fenris looked back up at her, feeling the way she scrunched his shirt in her hands, and he wondered if she thought he was one such mess. _She would not be far off the mark, _he thought, feeling rather resigned, cornered and pinned in the corner as he was both physically by her as well as by her gaze. "I suppose I can see the truth in your words," he admitted, placing his hands over hers and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her fingers. "Even those who live without chains are still bound: by fear, by tradition, by honor. Slaves dream of freedom, but… I have found free men dream of it even more."

"Very wise words," Hawke agreed. She searched his face for a moment and began to feel even more dazed than she had that morning, between the wine, the long day, Fenris's touch and his steady gaze. Still, she was careful not to lean into him, trying to be content to feel his solid chest through sheer silk under both hands with his hands pressing hers so warmly to him.

"But… what do former slaves and soon-to-be fully free men dream of?" she asked curiously, her earlier inquisitiveness finally getting the better of her lack of inhibitions._ Maker! I should not have even bothered asking something so personal, _she scolded herself immediately._ If he asked me what I dream about, I'd pretty much be honor-bound to lie._ _It must be the wine. Oh Marian, must you always open your big mouth…_

"You, actually," Fenris answered truthfully, the potent combination of wine, warmth, and closeness pulling the honest truth from his lips. Then he added wryly, "Probably to ensure I know who to seek to help me with this… 'fine mess,' as you call it." He let his hands slide down her arms as he spoke, memorizing the feel of having her so close. She looked away rather bashfully as his fingertips brushed the peaks of her elbows, and he smiled as he remembered kissing her injured one the first night they pitched their tent.

Hawke didn't smile or laugh at his candor or his teasing of her propensity for trouble, however. "You um… you dream about me?" she asked in quiet surprise, still looking away and beginning to chew on her lip as soon as she finished speaking. _Maker, why did I drink so much wine so fast? I can hardly think, hardly breathe… this man already makes me feel weak enough! It is no wonder I feel light-headed._

Fenris shifted where he stood, growing a little embarrassed himself as he realized how rather telling his revelation was. "Sometimes," he said, trying to hedge his answer a bit. "I have always had frequent and vivid dreams, ever since receiving my markings…" He shrugged, trying to make it unconcerned. "I haven't really spent this much time with anyone in the past three years — and following you has been… an experience. I suppose I need all the time I can get, just to think things through."

Hawke's shyness gave way rather quickly, and she looked back to fix him with a frank look. "Getting to know you has been 'an experience' for me too, you know."

"Has it? I see," Fenris responded with a quiet chuckle. "Well, when I first offered you my assistance, I never claimed to be very… companionable."

Hawke smiled slowly at that. "And yet… here we are," she pointed out. _To think that he dreams of me… even if it's just going back over our day, _she thought. _It must mean he cares for me._

Fenris inclined his head in agreement. "Here we are," he agreed. _I would not be here otherwise, _he thought a little wryly, _but there are certainly worse places I could be…_

"I suppose," she added, "it must just be that we complement each other so well." She slid her hands up to his shoulders and swept her thumbs against his neck, meeting his eyes. _We were interrupted this morning, but perhaps… _

Without her arms to rest on, Fenris placed his hands on her waist. "Indeed, we do," he agreed again, his voice dropping deeper as her touch and her look kindled something within him. _So bold, so free with her affections, _he thought, both envious of her and gratified that she needn't make allowances for him at present. _Her gaze is warm like her touch, and once more today I find both quite enjoyable…_

As he rather intently drank in the sight of her, Hawke looked aside shyly, and once more Fenris found her downcast eyes and hesitation even more deeply alluring for the contrast to her fearlessness, and for making him in turn feel like the bold one. _Even in this, even without meaning to she gives me something that I wanted… _he thought, a heat beyond wine burning in his stomach. _She is a remarkable woman… unlike any other I have ever met. It is no wonder I do not understand her, but… perhaps I need not fully understand a thing to relish it._

In a warm trickle, Fenris's earlier determination returned, still fully-formed from their encounter that morning. It continued to fill him unabated, flowing freely after wanting to pull her close for days, after trying to several times and failing for one reason or another, and after dreaming about it so often and for long weeks.

He thought about how her touch on his neck had not made his markings burn, how his silk shirt covered even his arms and seemed to be enough of a barrier against the risk of feeling pain, how he had not felt the threatening tightening of his emotions in his mind despite his earlier desires or even his jealous anger. But mostly he thought about how he simply wanted and needed to feel normal, to have something that day make sense and go right for a change, to show Hawke what her care meant to him, and to explore what could not identify, let alone find the words to convey.

They stood quietly like that for a few long minutes, tension building almost palpably; Hawke looking aside with her hands on his neck, and Fenris gazing over at her with his hands on her waist; Fenris rationalizing his desires and steeling himself, and Hawke feeling both resolute that she would receive some kind of reconciliation for their earlier quarrel yet certain that something would happen, just as it always seemed to around her.

They could both distantly hear Varric telling the hirelings the story of the dragon they had slain at the Bone Pit, but eventually Hawke's focus wandered as the time crept by and Fenris was soon thereafter after distracted from his thoughts by her indelicate snort.

"I may have had a lot to drink the night we killed that dragon," she said suspiciously, "but truly I don't remember you throwing me onto its back where I beheaded it with one fell blow from my daggers."

Her wry comment was so unconnected from his other serious thoughts that Fenris found himself laughing. "No, I don't think I could throw you that far. I could barely haul you into that tree." A little glad of the distraction from his careful process of working up his nerve and figuring it also good practice, Fenris slowly dug his fingers into Hawke's waist, giving her sides a few squeezes, smiling crookedly when her face screwed up into an attractive pout.

"I know where you sleep, remember?" she warned, brows going up. "Marian Hawke? Rogue? Proficient with daggers, and beheader of dragons, apparently?" She narrowed her eyes a little. "It isn't polite to tease a lady about her weight, Fenris."

"What should I tease you about, then?" he asked, letting his voice go serious. "How poorly you drew that picture of killing the dragon? Or perhaps how you cannot hold your celebratory brandy."

"I never claimed to be an artist, Fenris," she replied airily, "and I though I did have rather a lot of brandy, I do remember that night quite well, thank you."

Fenris remembered the night very well himself, for it had been the night Hawke had rather unguardedly gazed over at him, then remarked on how well they fought together. But when she had asked him to promise to stay by her side, he had been unable to promise anything more than to be there if she needed him — and he had assumed at the time that she truly didn't, and soon would realize it herself. His debt to her then had already been great simply from having her help with Danarius and the hunters. Yet despite his efforts to contain it, it had only grown since — as apparently had her need of him, until he now no longer could think far enough into the future to envision himself leaving Kirkwall or her side — though Fenris admitted to himself that thinking of the future was not his forte.

"Do you even remember what I told you that night before I left?" he asked, realizing he had a chance to give her what Varric thought she would want to know, some reassurance that he would not simply disappear. He did not even wonder that he could not just tell her outright — he accepted that it would probably be more reassuring for her to come to it on her own than for him to try poorly to explain it again.

"I uh… hmm, let me think…" Hawke's fingers began running along the collar of his shirt as she looked down, face creased in deep thought. "I remember drawing that picture… and laughing that Varric was short. And then there were my stabby spirals… And after that…" She delayed, not wanting to admit that currently she was slightly inebriated and thus was finding it doubly hard to recall that rather drunken night.

Fenris shivered a little at her light caresses, his hands tightening on her waist. "You… said that we worked well together," he hinted. Hawke looked up and regarded him a little blankly, so he continued after a moment. "You asked me to promise to stay." He purposely did not repeat the exact wording of her promise that they stay together forever, graciously attributing her dramatic turn of phrase to the brandy, and somewhat embarrassed by it himself.

"Did I?" Hawke looked away, brow creasing as she began biting on her lip. _Maker's breath, I said that to him how long ago? Two weeks at least? It is no wonder he kept a wary eye on me all his time. Just goes to show I was right not to go blabbing my feelings for him today. _She glanced up at Fenris, who was waiting with a rather expectant upraised eyebrow for her to speak._ Andraste's weaving wobbling walk, I really need to never drink brandy again. I wind up saying the most ridiculous things… even more ridiculous than my usual, which is pretty bad._

"All right, I admit…" she said frankly, "I do not remember that." She cleared her throat, trying to turn the conversation back around to her favor somehow. "So, what _did_ you say before you left, since that was your original question?"

Fenris looked into her eyes, feeling a dark satisfaction already welling with in him. He suspected his words would fluster her, and as he already knew from that morning, from just before his wash, and from the way she had lowered her eyes not long ago that he would undoubtedly relish it. The anticipation, plus a slight nudge of wine, seemed to make enough of a difference as he repeated his words for her, putting as much earnestness into it as he could muster. "I'll be here if you need me, Hawke."

"Oh…" Hawke swallowed against a sudden dryness in her mouth, his tone unmistakable. "Well… and I do need you, so…" she added lightly, trying to chuckle. _I was not expecting this, _she thought, stomach fluttering a little nervously as he looked at her.

"It is a promise, Marian," Fenris said, not relenting in his hunt to see her thoroughly undone, finding he enjoyed the pursuit of her blush, her downturned eyes, and her hesitant lips too much to let fear or cowardice or doubt restrain him further. "So here we are. Us."

_He said my name, _she thought dazedly, _and he has promised to be here if I need him? He had already promised that two weeks ago? _Her mind worked through the haze of wine as she thought of all the times she had worried he would leave Kirkwall, only to wonder why he remained. _He has stayed… will stay… for me._

As he had anticipated, Hawke quickly lowered her gaze, too affected to even begin chewing on her lip.

Fenris felt the surge of determination, want, and need flare within him again as he looked down at her, and decided he would not let her silence, his lackluster way with words, or anything else interfere this time. So there could be no further misunderstandings on her part or self-doubts on his, he took a small step towards her as he drew her closer.

Even as he was unsure that there might not be obstacles after all, Fenris's arms slid without hesitation around Hawke's waist as he advanced, silk sleeves sliding quickly against the soft fabric of her shirt. And while she had gone rather motionless as he leaned towards her, Hawke's limp hands easily brushed past Fenris's collar until her arms began to dangle around his neck. Then, too firmly resolved not to continue, no matter his concerns or her reluctance, Fenris came to a halt before her and determinedly tightened his arms, pulling her bodily to him when she simply stood there. Hawke offered no resistance, and he had no cause to hold back, so sheer momentum carried them the rest of the way.

Then Fenris was indeed overwhelmed, just as Hawke finally looked at him and he pressed her fully against himself, feeling himself slipping, but still determined not to let go.

But it was her gaze, her scent, the heat of her body, and the sound of her quiet intake of breath that made him feel as though he was losing his careful control, the things he did not fear that proved to be what he could not resist or overcome. With no pain, or memories of lingering agony, or flaring of his lyrium talent, despite the challenges of his past and the present, and before he even fully knew it himself, Fenris had Hawke just as he had wanted her, just as he had wanted them, alone but together, and enveloped finally in a close embrace.

"Oh, I… see," Hawke said dumbly, rather limp and blinking in shock at Fenris as he looked back at her. She thrilled at how very near he was now, but was also very surprised by it, suddenly not knowing what to do, remaining loosely and awkwardly draped on him as if she had never hugged anyone before in her life. Distantly she worried that he would pull away immediately, or his markings would flare, or darkspawn would attack, Anders would barge in, and the Maker would decide to return, and all simultaneously, given her luck. When none of those things happened, however, she began to fear she would simply breathe wrong and mess everything up that way, but soon enough had to remind herself to continue to breathe regardless, if only so she wouldn't faint and most assuredly spoil things.

But above all Hawke just couldn't get beyond the feel of it, the feel of a true embrace, almost not believing it was happening to her even though she recognized it immediately after so long. Though she could hardly believe it, she knew what was occurring, knew it was more than just a hug from her family or a hug from a friend, held instead closer, tighter, longer, and in much stronger arms. That they were Fenris's arms, the arms of the man she'd wanted to be held by so badly, but the arms of a man she thought she might never touch — that was what made the experience that much more stunning.

Fenris remained wordless, trying to keep himself from hesitating or retreating as he struggled, working to figure out the mechanics of an embrace all on his own, all with Hawke still motionless and a bit leaden in his arms. He refused to back down however, determined to see it through, knowing that it could be done, and thus he could do it too, then soon move on to mastering it. He took solace as he explored that she at least didn't pull away, and he knew as he shifted her that he was more than capable of supporting her weight indefinitely, despite his teasing of her. And, as he continued to look at her face, he also decided to take it as a compliment that he indeed could so thoroughly unhinge such a normally formidable woman, even though he conveniently gave no thought to his own earlier moment of defenselessness since he had already recovered from it.

Hawke stood stiff as a board for a moment, still reeling and mind a little blank while Fenris's arms rubbed against her sides as he tried to figure out where to place his hands. The feel of him breathing out of rhythm from her drew her attention first, to the feel of his chest and flat stomach pressed against hers. Their bare feet touched as he shuffled against her more, and she noticed that next — then, in quick succession, his taut thighs pressing against hers, the bumping of their hips, and the nudge of their shoulders. His hands drifted across the small of her back soon, roaming upwards and bunching her shirt a little before settling into a gentle if halting rub that gradually drew her notice fully, as if reeling her back in.

Fenris found his place and settled into it, and Hawke's rigid back relaxed under his soothing touch, their awkward embrace quickly easing into a more comfortable one as they both began to give into it. Hawke tucked her arms between them again and pressed her hands against his chest, then turned her head and rested it against his shoulder. Feeling intoxicated in more ways than one, she realized she was already beginning to lean heavily into Fenris, though he seemed to not even notice, bearing it easily like an unyielding, immovable wall of stone. Still, she began to pull away to readjust her stance, but he squeezed her tighter, the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing even more strongly than she had imagined. She instinctually relented, clutching at his chest and closing her eyes, and the two of them started to twist a little, rocking each other as they fell into a well-earned, long, silent moment of closeness.

_I cannot remember ever experiencing this before, _Fenris thought with a heartaching mixture of mournfulness and deep contentment. _What has Danarius done to me that I could forget ever feeling like this? Surely at some point in my life before I must have embraced someone? _He almost started to try to remember, then stopped himself cold before he ran against the mental wall of the ritual and the agony that trying to delve beyond the memory of it always brought up.

He forced himself to focus on the present, not the past, letting Hawke's presence fill his awareness and drive back everything else. With his hands pressed against her back and his arms enfolding her, he mentally placed her in the center of everything even as his body did the same. As always, he tried to memorize every detail of the experience, using the habit born out of losing so much of his memory to fully claim this moment of victory that he had earned. Feeling how right it felt to have Hawke so near, to be able to take her into his arms, to simply be close to someone else without pain or fear or hate eating away at him, Fenris began to realize it was one of the many unknown things he had been struggling towards in his bid for freedom. _Yes. This is right_, he knew, as certainly as he knew anything.

Hawke sank further against him as he sighed, wanting to sigh, too. _It has been well over a year since anyone held me like this, _she thought, grief and guilt tinging her sweet thoughts as she remembered the last time John had held her, before she had left for the army and the arms of other men whom she had embraced much more casually. _Too casually, _she mourned, the wine threatening to amplify her sadness and undo her even further. She quickly got ahold of herself and tucked the sad feelings aside for more respectful reflection later, thinking it poor to let herself be maudlin when John and Fenris both had given so much to make her happy.

She tried to concentrate on the present and Fenris instead, experiencing him more acutely with her other senses since she felt rather too far gone to open her eyes. She inhaled his scent, nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder and the silk of his shirt, then smiled when he turned his face and sniffed her hair. His breath stirred it, sending a tingle through her entire body, and she could feel both his gaze and his cheek brush against her as he looked down at her. Finally letting out a quiet, contented little sigh, she pulled her arms further down and freed them, before wrapping them around Fenris's narrow waist, pressing her hands lightly against his back.

Fenris closed his eyes and rested his head against hers as she fully embraced him back, feeling as if, with the circle of her arms complete around him, yet another piece of the puzzle of what lay between them fell into place. _Whatever we are, this is a part of it, _he thought, though he knew he still found everything a rather confusing jumble, as unfamiliar with it all as he was.

But it was more curiosity and wonderment than frustration and bewilderment for once, and he decided he saw plenty of merit in puzzling out how he felt and why. _This I want to get used to, _he thought as Hawke shifted in his arms. He enjoyed the feel of having her pressed against him so sweetly and innocently far more than he ever thought he would. As much pleasure as he derived from any of the intensely intimate dreams the Fade seemed determined to taunt him with regarding her, in reality, embracing Hawke was fraught with far less danger of brushing against some memory of mistreatment or abuse, since he could not remember anyone, especially not Danarius or Hadriana, ever treating him with anything like the tenderness he felt from Hawke now.

After a few enjoyable minutes, Hawke straightened and pulled Fenris closer to her, her hands pressing against his back, wordlessly urging him to lean into her. He let her be his guide, resting his forehead against her shoulder when she tilted her head aside invitingly. As he began to sag against her, he thought, _Perhaps I truly do need this, _as all of the strength seemed to go out of him at once.

Fenris suddenly felt very tired and worn, like he had just prevailed in a hard-fought and narrowly-won battle, or had finally stopped running after a long, exhausting, and arduous chase. He stopped rubbing Hawke's back, just wrapping his arms fully around her and letting his hands settle on her sides. Hawke seemed to bear the weight of him leaning on her easily, so he just let himself remain, thinking he would need only a moment's rest to recover from the long day, the wine, and the emotional drain of deciphering, controlling, apologizing and making up for his behavior and moods.

But instead they stayed like that for long untold minutes, not listening as Varric concluded some tall tale about Hawke and the Arishok, then started in on another one about her saving the viscount's son. Even when he finally finished that story, too, loudly declaring he needed an ale break, Fenris was still slumped wearily and wordlessly against Hawke as she firmly held him close. The quiet that surrounded them in their tent was hardly disturbed as the nearby hireling camp became abuzz with activity as everyone murmured, stretched, and got their own ales, Hawke and Fenris seeming to be the only two people in camp who were satisfied to remain just as they were.

The musicians among the hirelings took the opportunity to break out their simple instruments, a fiddle, some flutes and drums, a lute or two and even a harp, and they began to play a few simple but jaunty drinking songs. The music Hawke and Fenris paid no heed either, despite how the tunes jarred a little against their quiet, affectionate moment. Soon enough, the hirelings got through about three or four rounds of 'You Got My Wife, But I Got Your Whiskey' before most of them starting sorely missing both their wives and whiskey and started calling for slower songs to quietly drink and reminisce to anyway.

Hawke began to sway with Fenris to a slow, wordless melody that set the rest of the camp into a pensive silence. Pulling one arm free, she ran her fingers through his hair, stroking through the neatly trimmed ends. He moved even closer to fill up the small gap her arm had left, and she could feel him stir against her shoulder, burying his face against her neck as she caressed his ear and temple. She couldn't help but smile when he quietly sighed, for it was possibly the most contented sound she could ever remember hearing him make.

"We can go to bed if you wish, Fenris," Hawke murmured, resting her head against his as the hirelings' song and her and Fenris's stationary dance began to lull her. "Surely you must be getting tired. It's been a very long day."

"I am fine," he said quietly without lifting his head. "I do not tire easily, nor do I need much sleep." _I do not want to let go, _he thought stubbornly as he was roused out of his languorous daze.

Hawke chuckled softly, rubbing his back. _Once he finally does a thing and decides he enjoys it, he is quite tenacious about it. I do love that about him though. _"What about me, hmm?" she teased. "I do not have your fortitude, remember? I'm growing quite dead on my feet over here, you know."

Fenris quickly pulled away and straightened, though his hands still rested on her sides, and Hawke still held onto his back and his arm. "I-I'm sorry. Forgive me, I didn't think." He looked aside, blinking a few times as he tried to focus and recover himself. "Of course you are tired. It must be getting late… and tomorrow will be another early start."

_Always so practical,_ Hawke thought with a fond smile, shaking her head as she lay her hand against Fenris's face. "No doubt we will sleep well, between your fine wine and the hirelings' playing. Let's just hope they don't go on to playing dirges and start sobbing, shall we?"

Fenris gave her a bit of a blank look, then nodded slowly, thinking her serious, and she chuckled as she released him so she could go retrieve her waterskin. As she took a long, thirsty drink to dilute all the wine she'd drunk, she furtively watched him continue to stand in the corner of the tent. He looked down at himself, rubbing his chest, then looked at his arms, running his hand down first one sleeve then the other, before finally scratching at his hair and his back while yawning.

Hawke nearly snorted out her mouthful of water, struggling not to laugh at his adorable bedtime mannerisms, especially in light of his statement that he wasn't tired. _It is very sweet that he enjoyed our first hug that much, _she mused, proffering the waterskin to him. _Well, he got a nice, good long one. As epic as anything Varric could have spun a tale about, I'd wager._

Fenris came over and accepted the waterskin, nodding wordlessly in thanks as he took a long drink himself. _I should not have let myself lose track of time, _he told himself a bit drowsily. _But… it was good to have some moments of… peace._

Hawke remained standing on her bedroll, looking down at it as she chewed on her lip and wondered if Fenris would be amenable to resuming their close embrace once laying down. _Andraste's twinkling squinty winking, is that truly how this day could end? With cuddling Fenris? _she realized with a jolt._ Yes, please! That would almost make all the stress worth it. It would be even better than a massage! _She had been a rather blank daze the entire time they had embraced, focused completely on the present, so her sudden bedtime realization was an additional pleasant surprise.

Hawke began pushing up her shirtsleeves, then brushed her hair back and began rubbing her hands against her thighs as if she was about to attempt something difficult, dangerous, and slightly inadvisable, like jumping off a cliff or juggling knives again.

Fenris set the waterskin above their bedrolls, then walked to the front of the tent. "I will return," he said, without glancing at her.

Hawke frowned, pausing halfway through lowering herself onto her bedroll. "What? Where are you going?" she asked, a little more shrilly than she intended, in a slightly wine-enhanced panic.

He paused and sighed, looking back at her. "We drank a lot of wine, Hawke," he explained meaningfully, eyes flicking up. "I would rather not have to get up in the middle of the night and find my way through a packed campsite littered with snoring hirelings."

"Oh… yes, of course," she stammered. "I see." _Maker, he still has me so jumpy after this morning, despite everything. Insufferable, cruel tease of a man…_

Fenris took in how her expression went from worry to blankness to somewhat embarrassed, and he began to smile. "You worry too much," he kidded. "I said I would return, and I shall. I should teach you to listen, just as you teach me to talk." _I suppose I should be flattered that she does not want me to leave her side. Still, she will thank me when I do not have to rouse her in the night with my comings and goings. _Then he remembered that it seemed almost impossible to wake her even once she had had enough sleep. _Still, perhaps I may not want to get up, _he thought with a small smile.

Hawke stood back up and crossed to the back to the tent. "I suppose I should go too. It wouldn't do for me to go wandering around in the middle of the night either. I do not have your keen eyesight, and I hate trying to go back to sleep. And I might run into darkspawn. Or Bartrand. I swear, Varric's brother never seems to sleep…"

Fenris shifted a little impatiently and urgently while she rambled. "Yes, well… I will meet you back here, then."

Hawke laughed, feeling a little heady from so much wine and affection. "Yes," she said, letting her voice go mock breathless as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Rendezvous with me in five minutes. I will wait for you on my bedroll if you will do me the same courtesy, serah — but mind you tell _no one_." Fenris just flicked his eyes up, one eyebrow raised in confusion as he left, and Hawke figured he must have never read any sort of romance novels.

_I must be getting old, _she thought, _for I do not remember any of my other love affairs seeming this… quaint. _She snorted as she left through the back of the tent, though she smiled to herself. _Ah well, can't be young forever. Nor can you hold half a bottle of wine forever. At least this way once I get myself wrapped up in Fenris's arms, we needn't move until morning. He truly is not like most men, but his practicality is useful, I suppose… and the rest of him? Maker…_

The hirelings were still quietly sitting around their campfire nursing their last cups of ale, water, or tea, listening to the sweetly meandering music that their more musical fellows were still playing. As Hawke hurried in the opposite direction to attend to her call of nature, she realized she had utterly forgotten about having her nightly cup of moon tea between too much wine and never enough Fenris. _I will have some first thing in the morning, _she told herself as she yawned and searched. _I feel sloshy already, and ready to drop off sound asleep, besides. It will be fine._

By the time she returned to her bedroll after first stopping by the mess tent to wash her hands, Fenris was already laying on his back with his hands on his stomach and eyes closed.

Hawke cursed her luck inwardly, creeping quietly, not wanting to wake him regardless._ Men… it isn't fair! They needn't walk halfway to Orzammar and back just to use the privy. _She quietly knelt on her bedroll and plumped up the slightly squashed bolster a bit, pouting her ill fortune._ Bastards. They have no idea how easy they have it. Just one day… __**one**__ in a woman's body and they would go mad. Absolutely insane. Would never be able to handle it._

Fenris opened his eyes and looked over at Hawke with a raised eyebrow as she continued to thump her bolster into submission. "Problem?" he asked dryly.

Startled a little, Hawke looked over at him with one limp fist half-raised. "Oh. I thought you had fallen asleep already."

"Even if I had, I do not think I would have stood a chance of remaining so," he remarked. Hawke just sighed and rubbed tiredly at her brow, so he reached over and patted at her bedroll before folding his hands on his stomach again. "Come, Hawke. You are clearly… overtired. Sleep."

Hawke considered him obliquely for a moment before laying down, disappointed that he seemed content to continue laying all by himself on his own bedroll. Sighing, she flopped down on her back too, though she doubted she could fall asleep like that with the stone floor so hard beneath her.

"The first thing I'm going to get when I'm rich is definitely the finest bed gold can buy," she grumbled with a heavy sigh, rubbing at her eyes before yawning again. "Oh well, at least we are one day closer to that now — even if the stone somehow seems to get harder each night the further along we go."

Fenris glanced over at her, letting himself notice his own discomforts more fully. Discounting his usual insignificant aches, he supposed the stone did seem a little harder than the night before. The familiar hum of the Deep Roads seemed somehow less noticeable through the ground, as if the rock beneath was thicker and did not allow it to penetrate as easily, leaving only the sensation to be felt indeed that of cold, unyielding hardness.

Then he also considered his desire to sleep closer to Hawke — he had still been trying to work out how to accomplish that when she had returned — and a very logical solution occurred to him that would solve both problems at once.

"If you are uncomfortable, we could… simply stack the bedrolls," he suggested slowly. "It would double the thickness of the padding." He shifted his eyes over to gauge her reaction, adding, "If you wish. And if you don't mind… sharing."

_Time is precious, _he had already reasoned, _and if my markings are not going to trouble me tonight, I should not squander what chance I have at experiencing the freedom I have so long sought. Besides, Hawke seems to enjoy the closeness too, and it is something I can easily give her tonight for all she has done, and a comfort after the pain I did not intend to inflict on her today._

Hawke blinked a few times, looking around and trying to see if she noticed anything shifting oddly to indicate she was in the Fade, dreaming. Gauging that she was well and truly still awake, she turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to frown down at Fenris. "Aren't you already comfortable?" she asked carefully, more concerned that he might be made uncomfortable if she agreed. "I'm not so bad off as that, so there's no need to… go rearranging everything on my account."

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment and managed to keep his growl to a quiet sigh. He remained on his back staring up at the tent ceiling as his expression flattened, though he tried his best to remember her hesitation was probably overly tenderhearted concern and likely not just a simple rejection.

"I would not have offered if I thought it too much trouble, Hawke," he explained, hoping his patience didn't sound as strained as it felt. _She only does this because I so often forget myself around her. I told her myself to have a care with me, so I can hardly fault her when she does…_

Hawke ran her eyes down the length of his body, taking in his becoming appearance and thinking of the fine, strong muscles beneath his clothes, though she needed little in the way of additional motivation after so thoroughly enjoying their embrace. "Well, in that case… yes, all right," she agreed.

She scooted off her bedroll as Fenris sat up on his, and together they quickly rotated Hawke's and slid it beneath Fenris's before crawling back onto the twice-thick stacked bedrolls. It was far too narrow for either of them to sleep on their backs, though neither seemed to have any inclination towards that despite how they had been laying previously. Fenris slowly stretched out and reclined rather stiffly, laying half on his side and propped up on his elbow as Hawke knelt facing him on her edge of the bedroll.

They both eyed their new, narrow bed with a measure of hesitation and reluctance, but eventually Hawke decided to take charge.

"Here, you're bigger than me, so you lay down first," she murmured, pointing along the length of the bedroll as if drawing a line down the center. "That way I don't wind up on the floor while you move about, getting comfortable."

Fenris, feeling rather dubious about the entire thing now that he was faced with the particulars, hesitantly complied anyway. Though it had been his idea and he had just gritted his teeth over Hawke's reluctance, he seriously considered calling a retreat as he tried to situate himself on the extreme edge of his side of the bedroll, facing her. _Perhaps I have overreached, _he thought apprehensively, dreading the thought of laying awake all night or waking up feeling cramped and uncomfortable as he always had as a slave.

Despite her instructions, Hawke soon sighed and lay down on her half of the bedroll beside him while he was still trying to figure out where to place his outstretched arm. _Men can be so hopeless left to their own devices, _she tutted to herself. Just as Fenris stiffly lay his head against the bolster, she took charge of him too, wordlessly tugging and urging him further towards the center of the bedroll until he had her back pressed to him. Then, using his arm as her pillow, she brought his hand to her chest and began to settle in in earnest.

"There, how is that?" she asked, turning her head slightly, trying to look at him. "Not too bad, is it?"

Made much more comfortable by both her careful arrangement and her closeness, Fenris thought, _Not as bad as I initially thought, no. _He chastised himself a little for his reluctance and cowardice as he smoothed a few errant strands of Hawke's hair down to keep them from tickling his face. Then he slid his arm around her waist, next to where her arm was folded against herself. His hand lightly grasped her forearm, the same way her other hand held his bent arm, pressing it over her breasts and against her chest.

"Nothing I can't get used to," Fenris finally conceded. Still, he made a few small adjustments to get even more comfortable, though as he straightened his long legs, he kept nudging his feet up against the bolster that was now at the end of the stacked bedrolls. _Hmph, it is all much more complicated than I imagined,_ he thought._ Yet… I suppose most things worth doing require some effort._

Hawke smiled and nestled down against his arm, rubbing her cheek against the silk of his shirt. "Perhaps not as comfortable as a bed with lots of pillows, I grant you, but still…" She shifted a little more, trying to get her legs comfortable, and her heart nearly seized up with the rest of her as Fenris's bent leg slid between hers.

"Does that bother you?" Fenris asked with concern when Hawke froze.

"No, no… Do as you see fit," she replied quickly. "There is only so much room after all. Ahem. May as well make the most of it…"

Hawke quietly thrilled at being so completely entwined with Fenris, feet, legs, and arms all a cozy tangle as they finally relaxed down to sleep. The solid feel of him at her back and the smell of him surrounding her was all very comforting, and she loved the way he held her so securely in his long, muscular arms. She only wished that his silk shirt covered less, missing the feel of his warm, smooth skin which she found far finer and silkier than any fabric could ever be.

Growing more determined to seek more of his direct touch as she thought about him shirtless, Hawke nudged the hand he had pressed to her chest underneath the V neckline of her shirt and along her bare skin. Once his fingertips rested over her heart and his palm was mostly in contact with her chest, she sighed contentedly and finally let herself begin to drift off.

_It is probably best that I don't have my journal, _Hawke thought sleepily. _I'd be up for hours trying to write all of this day down…_ "Goodnight, Fenris," she soon murmured, already finding sleep beckoning to her, the sublime contentedness of the evening and of being held sinking her swiftly down after the long, trying day.

"Sleep well," he replied quietly.

Fenris took much longer to fall asleep, deliberately surveying and examining every sensation he could, memorizing the feel of what he had wanted for so long. Though truly the extra padding of the stacked bedrolls wasn't as comfortable as he had assumed it would be and it still felt a bit too narrow for the two of them even to him, used to tight sleeping quarters as he was, he decided it a more than acceptable enough tradeoff and as good a way as any to end the arduous day.

As he tried to relax against Hawke and shifted to mold himself around her, Fenris thought about his markings, wondering if, with being used to Hawke's touch and having the protective layer of clothing between them, his lingering agony could to remain undisturbed indefinitely. _Yet, that does not really explain my neck, or the markings along my chin and throat, _he thought, thinking back to how Hawke had brushed or pressed against him almost everywhere as they embraced. _Why did it not hurt as my chest did, as I was prepared for it to do? I do not understand yet again._

He lay there cautiously thinking about it for a time, but soon gave up. _Who knows what Danarius has done to me, _he thought with a resigned sigh, deciding he was too tired to puzzle anything else out and not wanting to risk rousing the lingering agony by dwelling on it. _Last night was full of dark memories, so it is no wonder that the memory of the ritual would surface even once I was no longer in the grips of something I could not control. But tonight…_

Hawke began to go rather supple in his arms and Fenris relaxed even more against her, sniffing the berry and honey scent from her hair as he looked down at her. _But tonight, I am in control. I knew what it was that I wanted, what it was that needed to be done. And I did it. For once, I saw it through, without letting fear dictate my actions, without backing away to reconsider, or running away entirely. _

He took a deep, calm breath, letting his chest expand as he felt a swell of self-assurance that he too often lacked. _Perhaps I should not wonder that my markings did not interfere, that my lyrium talent remained controlled, then. Perhaps I am mastering myself. Perhaps I truly have gained something even as I thought to give something to Hawke to make up for my actions._

As if tacitly agreeing with his thoughts, Hawke wriggled against him before going limp once more. _I may have started the day poorly but… surely I have had a victory in setting things right, _he thought, a small, confident smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He felt further rewarded as Hawke moved again, her rear pressing against his hips. _She truly is like none other, _he thought, perhaps a little wryly._ And she has taught me much, even if sometimes all she does is simply be there, both for my mistakes and my triumphs. _

Fenris boldly gathered her closer and squeezed a little, feeling as quietly content himself as the happy, sleepy sigh Hawke let out. His nose remained buried in her hair as relaxed his grip a little, and he closed his eyes. _I have been telling myself for three years that I am no longer a slave. But tonight, I feel as though I have truly proven it, even to myself. All men are free to make mistakes, but unlike a slave, a free man may judge for himself what he has done and decide how to remedy it. I have done so, despite the difficulties and the obstacles, both of my own making and the doing of others. _Distantly, he once again observed that it seemed to be mainly mages who caused him strife, but he was too tired and decided not to brood on it or Anders again so close to sleep.

Instead, for once he tried to think of the future, what the possibilities meant, and of everything that was within his grasp. _I am my own master now, _he thought defiantly. _Not Danarius, nor anyone else. I will not let him, or these markings he forced on me, or this fear he put inside me dictate my actions. For now, there is no Danarius, no Hadriana, no hunters — no one but me and Hawke. Us. I have promised her aid, and she has in turn promised me hers. Once Danarius is dead, I will still remain — and if by then this thing between us is not clearer, then I will enlist her help with that as well._

Outside the tent, the hirelings began to groan and complain as the music stopped and Varric gently prodded everyone to retire before Bartrand got involved. But he rather quickly relented to tell one final story about Hawke before calling it a night.

With his keen ears, Fenris could have listened to Varric's dramatic retelling of the fight between Hawke, Fenris, and Arvaarad, who somehow now had an entire battalion of qunari warriors at his back and dual-wielded flaming axes, but he felt no desire to dwell on the battle despite his own hazy memory of it from the blind instinct that had taken him over that fight.

_Hawke and I have defeated many great enemies together already, despite both our shortcomings and missteps and our differences, _he thought._ But the longer I follow her, the more we learn from one another, the more we find we complement one another, the easier it all becomes. She is very persistent, and I have promised to remain at her side as long as she needs me. I have little doubt that, given enough time, nothing will stand in her way — little enough already does, _Fenris mused, thinking how he himself had not been able to discourage her over and over again, despite his own, sometimes counter-productive, relentlessness.

Then sobering, knowing his tranquility that night would invariably not last, he thought seriously, _Perhaps looking to her to help me resolve my past is indeed the best way to get rid of it… though it truly seems we must stir it all up again and again in seeing it settled once and for all. _He thought back to the morning, knowing his inability to leave the past behind him was as much because it could not seem to leave him alone as is it was own mental struggles to get beyond its influence._ I wish it were not so, and I wish I could be certain that tonight I have put at least part of my past behind me, but… I dare not hope after so many times of finding I am wrong, after so long having it continue to dog me. _Hawke shifted and nodded against his arm, and he was reminded, _Yet even a small victory is still a victory. It is more than I had before, and my efforts have surely not been wasted. Perhaps… perhaps that can be enough for now._

With a final, quiet sigh knowing he would undoubtedly have even more to think about going forward, but a small, affectionate smile for the unfathomable woman who had taught him as much that day with her boldness as with her hesitation, Fenris finally let himself go to sleep, leaving the pretense that he and Hawke had any idea of what they were actually doing to Varric's distant, ongoing storytelling.


	37. Interlude: Deep Dreams

**A/N: **Doing a little something fun with this 'short' teaser chapter, not only to get me back into the writing groove after vacation, but to give all you fantastic readers something new to read instead of making you wait until the next full installment.

And also sorta because I felt like working that M-rating a little. (What can I say, it's summer time and almost my birthday, so I feel like uh… 'celebrating'!) ;)

Our sleepy protagonists are both definitely ripe for some nice vivid dreams after being all riled up, liquored up, & cuddled up after their tiring, rollercoaster ride of day, and my husband pointed out I could go ahead and publish a nice, dreamy snack to tide everyone over while I bang out the actual upcoming plot.

So for now, I hope you will indulge me indulging you and enjoy this little respite as much as Hawke & Fenris will. It's just nice to dream sometimes, especially when you're stuck underground for days on end…

(And for anyone who is getting antsy, yes, we _will_ be leaving the Deep Roads soon, I promise! I'm dying to get to the upcoming three-year gap and Act 2 more than you can imagine. Work is in progress!) :)

* * *

_6 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon_

In the darkest hours before a new day would dawn unseen on the surface above, Hawke and Fenris slept soundly in a tangle of limbs, gradually growing more entwined with one another as the night wound on.

Unconcerned by the raspy echos of snoring from the nearby hirelings or the hard stone above and beneath their shared bedroll, the two of them ignored their less than ideal surroundings and found more than enough comfort in their close togetherness and dreams of each other to remain content and deep in slumber.

Hawke delightedly snuggled against Fenris throughout the night, melting back into him and wrapping herself up entirely in his warm embrace, legs, feet, arms, and hands all woven and mingled together with his. And Fenris, free from his waking reservations, curled around Hawke and allowed himself to be ensnared as he tightly held on to her, using sleep's brief respite to satisfy his longing for a taste of closeness.

There still was some awkwardness, however, reality and their pasts never fully escapable for either of them. Both were very used to sleeping alone, after all, and sharing such a narrow bedroll left them each feeling subtly out of their element, if for very different reasons. Hawke, desire unabated and having spent more than a few nights in her army tent in close company before, kept unknowingly cozying up against Fenris a little more amorously than he could handle, each time his hips reflexively shying away from the intimate contact — though he tenaciously refused to release his hold on her.

Then, as Fenris began to scoot off the side of the bedroll without letting Hawke go, his thigh slid higher between her legs and his arms inadvertently strained at her chest — though she stubbornly refused to wake, as ever. Feeling her squirming and fighting to breathe, Fenris always soon readjusted again, drawing close to calm Hawke until she nestled back down into the unbroken embrace that neither of them were willing to end even as they drowsed, despite their short bouts of unrest.

Indeed though they tussled back and forth occasionally, they both more easily dealt with their deepening intimacy while asleep than either of them could usually manage when awake, unconsciously drawing upon the familiarity and fondness between them that had grown over the weeks of fighting alongside one another.

Fenris had already trained himself to a heightened awareness of Hawke, so as long as she didn't shift too provocatively against him, his lithe, resilient warrior's body yielded just enough to perfectly re-envelop her whenever she stirred, shadowing her every slight movement with a near-instinctual protectiveness. And Hawke, having placed not only her trust but also her heart in his hands more with each passing day, remained secure instead of feeling suffocated no matter how Fenris held her, finding deep reassurance and fulfillment in the possessiveness of his unyielding, close grip on her.

They gravitated towards one another even in their dreams, dreams which reflected both strangeness and sweetness, the elements of their tumultuous day and events of the close night enmeshing and twisting as their wandering minds worked through old thoughts and new feelings alike. Slight smiles occasionally flitted across their faces, hinting that whatever their visions in the Fade brought as they slept on, Hawke and Fenris both found something enjoyable in them, just as they persisted in the satisfying, warm struggle of learning to be at ease in each others' arms.

* * *

_Accommodations_

Fenris found himself standing cross-armed at the foot of Danarius's massive, round bed, eyes flicking up as the magister slowly settled himself among the many silk pillows and loosened his fine linen sleep robes.

"Cozy…" Fenris muttered under his breath, suppressing an impatient growl.

"Draw the curtains and snuff the torches, pet," Danarius sighed, eyes already closed as he flicked a lazy gesture with his hand. "And open the balcony doors. It is far too stuffy tonight. May as well be in Seheron with this blasted heat…"

Instead of voicing his old concerns for his master's safety, Fenris merely made a soft, disgusted noise and wordlessly complied with the orders. His heavy gold collar tugged at his neck, making him feel strangled, but he refused to acknowledge it or to pull at it, knowing it would do no good. He also ignored the way his short tunic rode up his thighs and backside as he reached to extinguish the torches and tug the silk curtains around the bed closed.

Wordlessly, Danarius extended a hand still bedecked with jeweled rings to him as he reached to pull the final curtain shut. Rolling his eyes in the darkness, Fenris hastily bent and kissed the signet ring bearing the same runic symbol that was emblazoned across the breast of his short, white linen tunic in blood red. Then, just as he did almost every night, he removed the rings one by one, palming them to set on the plush cushioned tray that sat on a small bedside table.

Before he could straighten to do so, however, Danarius's deceptively quick hand reached out to catch his chin, running an immaculately manicured finger along the markings beneath his lower lip, tracing them down to his throat and fingering the gold collar as Fenris stiffened and held himself rigid.

"Ah, my little Fenris," the elder mage murmured, sharp, steely eyes twinkling even in the dimness. "How long I dreamed of accomplishing this, of forging one such as you. Even after all these years, I so enjoy seeing the fruits of my not-inconsiderable efforts…"

He continued staring at Fenris's face, though his hand traced the markings along the side of his neck and down his shoulder and arm. The magister's hand followed the lines of lyrium exactly despite the darkness, a precision born of years of such treatment — and Fenris supposed also an intimate knowledge of the ritual that placed them there to begin with.

His markings soon began to hurt, burning with a searing ferocity that was all too familiar. Though he wanted to pull away, he found himself unable to move, held in place by Danarius's possessive gaze as surely as if the magister had used a spell to bind him. Fenris kept his eyes averted as always, but still the tension in the room soon grew thick enough to prickle every hair on his head into standing on end. His former master made a low noise in his throat as if he was mulling over speaking something, and Fenris had no doubt whatsoever that whatever it was Danarius was about to say, it could not be good.

_Hawke's touch and the way she looks at me is nothing like this, _he thought suddenly, a sharp twinge in his heart adding to the pain of his markings. _When she speaks my name… When she looks at me… When she touches me…_

Danarius abruptly let him go, silently flitting another impatient gesture while looking away and closing his eyes. Fenris did not hesitate for a second, withdrawing and shutting the last curtain in one smooth motion. He had to pry the rings out of the flesh of his palm, tossing them down on the cushion carelessly for a change. He refused to feel relieved by the broken tension, since he had also been trying to refuse to feel intimidated.

After hastily propping both balcony doors open, he scanned the dark Minrathous skyline from Danarius's high balcony, expression a disgusted moue. "May I go?" he ground out, hoping he wouldn't be forced to stand guard all night simply because his former master wished for some fresh air.

"You may," the magister said with a yawn. "Just see that you awaken me on time. I have several early appointments, so I will wish to visit the bathhouse before the usual morning crush. You know how I like to be relaxed and limber before having to meet with these sorry, sycophantic excuses for Imperial magisters. I can barely stomach them otherwise, always seeking some favor or handout with nothing to offer me but their useless fawning…"

Fenris silently made his way across the large, opulent room with quick, long strides as soon as Danarius assented, eager for the solitude and quiet of his tiny room across the hall despite its other discomforts — and to be gone before the fickle man could change his mind. Pulling the thick, wooden chamber doors shut behind him rather loudly as Danarius was still complaining about his upcoming day, Fenris did not even bother to eye the guards standing outside his former master's room for signs of nervousness or deceit.

_I don't care anymore if that old fool gets up on time __**or**__ assassinated, _he thought sourly, stalking the few paces across the hall to his own room. _I should have carried him over to the balcony railing and dropped him over the side. Then he wouldn't have to worry about his precious appointments or the heat. And I… well. Suffice to say, it would be a most satisfactory result for all…_

Fenris shook his head to himself as he entered his quarters, looking down to tug on the hem of his tunic and slamming his own door shut behind himself with his foot. Then he swore when he realized he'd forgotten to scan his small room using the light from the hall torches, just in case Hadriana was waiting for him. "Vishante kaffar," he growled in warning. _If she is here, she will soon rue coming to pay me a visit…_

Indeed there was a rustle of hay and cloth from his narrow pallet in the corner and Fenris gritted his teeth, hands already making fists. He called out, "I'd be willing to make two trips to Danarius's balcony tonight, Hadri-" But as he lit his markings, he saw it was Hawke who was waiting in his bed, propped up on one elbow with a smile that went a bit lopsided as her eyebrows shot up.

"Fenris?" she asked with a chuckle. "Is something the matter?"

Fenris looked at his fists then quickly loosed them, hunching and pretending to brush at his embarrassingly short tunic as he tugged it down yet again. "No!" he said, hurrying to extinguish his markings, too. "I just didn't expect, um… well, you."

Hawke shifted and sat up a little more, the pout of her lips becoming visible as his eyes adjusted to the darkness once more. "Did you forget about me already?" she asked, voice tinged with sadness.

"I, uh…" He fidgeted a little and tried to think of a diplomatic response, not seeing any point in making the both of them uncomfortable. "I just do not think ahead, Hawke," he explained, clearing his throat. "It isn't you. Truly."

"Oh. I see." She let out a heavy sigh but patted the bed, scooting as far against the wall as she could to make room for him. "Well, never mind. Come, we're both here now, right? Just us…"

Fenris half-turned to look at the door, eying the sliver of light that shone in through the crooked gap beneath it. He half-expected to see Hadriana's shadow darkening it at any moment, but soon shook himself and frowned, jaw clenching along with one of his fists.

_Just let her try it, _he thought grimly._ I am done with this day and done with magisters. Between Hawke and myself, that bitch would wind up either fleeing or crawling out of here. I would almost welcome her turning up, in fact…_

He turned back to his bed and strode to it, taking a moment to straighten the scratchy blanket before he climbed in next to Hawke. She slipped her arms around him immediately, unlatching and discarding his collar in one swift motion, not even waiting for him to get settled before cuddling up against him.

Fenris rubbed at his neck for a moment, but Hawke's arms soon pinned his to his sides. "Give me a moment, woman," he sighed, pushing away from her with one hand as he lifted his hips and tried wrestle with his hateful tunic again. But Hawke hooked her leg in between his and grabbed his hand, resting it on her hip as she lay her head on his bicep.

"Relax, Fenris," she said, tutting when he moved his hand from her hip to brush her hair away from tickling his face. "Maker, can't you be at rest even in your own bed?"

"Hmph. 'My bed' indeed," he grumped, frowning deeply. "I own nothing. Not that I would count this pathetic pallet much of a possession, even were it mine." He shifted uncomfortably, trying to claim more of the tiny mattress for himself since Hawke was pushing him off the edge of it.

"You don't even own these, um… clothes?" she asked. One of her hands slipped down his side and along his bare thigh.

Fenris put his hand over hers just as she began to stroke back upwards, folding her arm against her chest and holding it firmly in place. "If I did, Hawke," he drawled, " it wouldn't be mine for long. I would immediately throw this tunic into a fire."

Hawke began to giggle quietly, shaking with laughter against his chest and going rather limp just as he was trying to nudge her into a better position on the bed beside him. He strained to move her, finding it unusually difficult to lift her up, though eventually he got her scooted over despite her increasingly helpless state.

Pausing to shake his head at her as she continued to laugh herself breathless, Fenris felt a crooked smile pulling at his lips, soon chuckling a little himself at her amusement. "I do not know whether or not I should ask what exactly you find so funny about my predicament," he said.

"Oh Fenris," she eventually managed to wheeze, "you and your flaming clothing logic…"

That wrung a soft laugh out of him, and he brushed away the hair that had fallen into her eyes. "It's good that we can both take pleasure in the small things," he teased, finally settling down next to her and wrapping her in a close embrace.

Hawke's giggling quickly faded and she pressed up warmly along his front, filling his nose with the sweet smell of her hair. He relaxed as her presence drove back the cold, musty feel of his cramped little stone-walled room, and the softness of her skin and her clothes under his hands more than made up for the meager bed linens and scratchy hay that poked through from his pallet.

"This isn't so bad… right?" she said, voice muffled against his chest and already thick with sleep.

Fenris closed his eyes and drew her even closer, the magisters, his tunic, the room, the bed, and everything else slipping from his mind. "Much better than it usually is," he agreed in a murmur, a small smile creasing his lips.

They snuggled quietly together, Fenris drifting more into a languorous daze than sleep, though he could tell that Hawke immediately dropped off. His thoughts and sensations quickly dulled, then began to blur around the edges, and after a while he distantly wondered if it had been minutes or hours since he had lain down.

_Perhaps it is time to wake Danarius, _he thought, then shook off the notion as Hawke burrowed deeper against his chest. _No, he is no longer my master. Bah, I must be more tired than I thought…_

Just as Fenris tried to settle back down, the sound of approaching footsteps made his ears perk up, though he didn't move or open his eyes.

_It's just the guards' changing of the watch, _he told himself, though he hadn't heard any bells to judge the hour. _Or it could be one of the other slaves cleaning. Or a messenger dropping off Danarius's copy of the Senate agenda for tomorrow morning's session. Or a pleasure slave that Danarius called for to help him 'fall asleep…'_

He didn't want to think of the one other person it could likely be, instead squeezing Hawke tighter and concentrating on the feel of having her nestled under his chin and in his arms. Rather than worry as the quiet footsteps drew nearer, Fenris reminded himself, _Even if Hadriana comes, she is no match for me or Hawke, to say nothing of both of us together. And besides — she might just go away…_

His clinging hold on Hawke began to make her squirm fitfully, but he couldn't make himself release her, arms ratcheting down a little more with each torturously slow footfall.

Hawke soon came awake, just as the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door.

"Fenris, relax," she whispered, finding and taking his hand in hers. "It's just the lookouts coming back from patrol. See?"

He reluctantly opened his eyes to look at her before he glanced over to where the sounds of approach had stopped. He saw two figures several yards away standing near a fire, the stone walls of his room nowhere to be seen.

"We are… in Seheron," Fenris said, immediately recognizing the Fog Warriors' camp.

"Of course," Hawke said, eyebrow going up. "You escaped, remember?"

The hammock they were sharing rocked a little as Fenris sat up further to stare at the pair of rebels who had just returned and who now sat quietly murmuring to each other around the nearby fire. Mouth going dry, he recognized them both, though he had never learned their names.

A man and woman of similar height, both with tanned skin and black hair, his short and spiky while hers was long and braided, they had been seemingly inseparable and had always been smiling broadly at each other whenever Fenris had seen them. Indeed as he watched, they soon scooted together to embrace and kiss, passing the time pleasantly as they waited for water to boil so they could have some coffee before going back out to keep watch together throughout the night.

_But… I killed them, _Fenris thought, eyes transfixed on the couple. He could only too vividly recall it, for he had had to fight them as a pair, cutting him down and tearing out her heart in quick succession as they tried fiercely but futilely to protect one another. _I never spoke to either of them,_ he remembered._ I only ever saw them like this, because they always patrolled at night_._ Until the noise of battle awoke them that morning. Until they came running out of their hut together to face Danarius and his guards. Until I… I…_

"So romantic," Hawke sighed, watching the close pair too, and Fenris could soon feel her hand running up along the frog clasps of his black tunic.

Unable to speak, he numbly looked down at her fingers on his chest and distractedly surveyed himself, noting that he was indeed wearing his usual attire now. Frowning, he turned back to the fire, but she cuddled close again, wrapping herself up in his arms as snugly as the generous, woven hammock that was cocooned around them.

"Shhh, leave them be," she murmured, fingers stroking his face. Fenris let Hawke turn him away from the Fog Warrior couple, leaning into her touch as she continued her soothing caresses. "The best thing you can do now is rest and heal, Fenris. Don't worry about them, all right?"

"But… I am healed," Fenris countered, shifting to press a hand over the vertical scar along his side, just above his right hip. Indeed, he felt no bandages there, nor poultices or pain, and he was able to take a deep breath without any broken ribs aching either. "I feel perfectly fine, Hawke," he said, looking into her eyes. "In fact, I do not feel anything at all."

She smiled a little sadly, patting his cheek before leaning up to give him a sweet, lingering kiss in response. He kissed her back a little hesitantly, then with increasing gingerness as a tight catch in his chest stabbed deeply at his heart before growing even further in intensity, making it more and more difficult to breathe, though he stubbornly tried to ignore it.

As if sensing his pain, Hawke pulled away. "Just… try to take it easy. Give yourself time," she urged, rubbing at his chest.

"I have both entirely too much time and never enough, it seems," he said with a sigh.

She smiled at him again, tracing a few feather-light kisses along his jaw and throat that quickly started to set him at ease. "You are entirely too severe on yourself sometimes… as I have told you before, I believe," she said with quiet fondness.

Burying his nose into her hair, Fenris held on to her as she wriggled against him in a slight cadence to set the hammock swinging in a slow, soothing arc. The feeling of being rocked was just as comforting as he remembered from the clear nights he'd slept in it, once he had been well enough to forgo sleeping on his cot inside the small raised bungalow that had become his home while with the Fog Warriors.

Hawke, too, seemed to enjoy the rocking — soon enjoying it perhaps a little too much. The feel of her leg between his, rubbing against his leggings and urging the swaying on began to threaten to upset both the hammock and Fenris's composure, and his ease quickly turned to mild alarm.

"Have a care, Hawke," he warned, legs shifting against hers as he moved to counterbalance the wide swinging. "It isn't an insignificant fall to the porch — and you'd probably wind up dropping off the edge and falling to the ground as well."

She began to giggle again, shaking with laughter though she stopped actively trying to rock the hammock. "You almost speak with the voice of experience," she said, eyes twinkling up at him.

Fenris rolled his eyes, stretching out a little tensely as he waited for the wild swaying to die down. "Perhaps," he said with a heavy sigh.

Hawke snorted loudly at his admission then clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head in a furious attempt to laugh silently.

Leaving her to her breathless amusement for the moment, Fenris cautiously eyed the ropes that supported either end of their hammock to the eaves of the hut's narrow porch, watching them carefully, almost expecting one to snap. Nothing happened as he waited out the swaying, however, which did soon slow, leaving Hawke's weak chortling the only movement to be felt.

"Woman… Calm yourself," he said with a tired chuckle, easing back over to her. Hawke limply rolled into him, wiping at her eyes with a few last, bemused sighs, and Fenris lifted an eyebrow at her, shaking his head again. "At this rate, all your noise and thrashing will get us noticed," he teased. "People will be talking by breakfast…"

She perked up that, making a small, appreciative noise and snuggling closer. "Well, if they're going to talk anyway…" she purred, fingertips sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair.

"Hmm. Tempting," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. Then, gathering her up, he tucked her head beneath his chin and closed his eyes, relaxing under the feel of her running her fingers through his hair. "But I need to rest and heal, remember? You just told me yourself… And I can hardly do either with you here as it is." Then he paused and nuzzled his face next to her ear, adding with a quiet chuckle, "Especially with all your fidgeting…"

Thigh sliding between his again, Hawke whispered back, "Oh? But I think part of you rather likes my fidgeting."

Fenris hooked his leg around hers and pinned her in place before she could nudge against his hips, where his leggings were admittedly a little tight. "More of me rather likes getting some sleep, Hawke," he chided. "I may have said before that I need little rest, but I didn't mean for you to keep me up at all hours. Festis bei umo-"

"'I will be the death of you.' Yes, I know, Fenris," she interrupted offhandedly, suppressing a yawn. Her fingers combed through his hair a few more times before moving to trail up and down along his ear. "Perhaps _you_ should have a care around _me_, hmm? Much of the blame for what I do lies with you, you know."

"Does it?" he asked, brow furrowing. "I see…"

Despite the tender tone of her voice and the feel of her stroking his ear, Hawke's words gave Fenris significant pause. His mouth went dry again as he thought of the pair of Fog Warriors near the fire, and all the other rebels who were sleeping in the huts around them. "Well… I suppose that too can be heaped with the rest of the blame I carry," he said, voice a little hoarse.

He bowed his head, face soon hidden in her hair, but Hawke turned and kissed his forehead, then the strong, distinctly elven bridge of his nose. Fenris kept his eyes closed and shifted as his chest started to ache again, but she brushed her fingers under his chin and urged him to look at her.

"Hey now. None of that tonight, you," she murmured, gazing at him softly when he opened his eyes. He looked away, but she nuzzled her nose against his and gave him another affectionate kiss, making it difficult for him to hold onto his loneliness and guilt. "I didn't mean it like that, Fenris," she said with quiet earnestness. "Please, just put it out of your mind for now."

"I am just… very tired," he sighed, a weak smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You are right; it is not the time to speak of it. For now, I wish to think on other things."

Trying to relax with a deep breath and ignoring the tight feeling in his chest, Fenris threaded his fingers into Hawke's hair and curled around her as she sank against him, soon getting about as tangled up with her as he had with the hammock itself the first time he'd ever tried to use it. He had never shared a hammock with anyone, but it felt like second-nature to do so with Hawke all the same. Bundled up closely in the tightly woven mesh, even their toes wriggled against one another's, but Hawke's contented little sigh spoke eloquently to their joint satisfaction with the arrangement.

"Not too bad, is it," she said, unbuttoning a few clasps of his tunic and sliding her hand in to caress his bare chest.

Her touch pulled a long, quiet sigh from him, and Fenris closed his eyes. "It felt strange at first, but I've gotten used to it quickly," he said. "Though I dislike the feeling that I'm going to fall. Yet, for being fraught with danger, it is a very comfortable way to sleep. Especially in the jungle — much cooler than a bed. Though perhaps it is not as comfortable when it rains…"

Hawke chuckled softly. "Right… the hammock," she said, patting his chest with a sigh. "You and your late-night bedding logic, Fenris…"

He cracked an eye and considered her look of bemused resignation for a moment. "Hmph," he pretended to grouse. "Well, one of us needs to be practical and responsible. Especially with you so _recklessly_ trying to slingshot us out of here earlier." Hawke snickered quietly, and Fenris had to fight to keep his expression mockingly stern. "You should leave things like that to Varric, woman," he said. "You aren't a marksman, after all."

She huffed a quiet laugh of incredulity, expression scandalized. "I am a very skilled rogue in every way, I'll have you know. I throw grenades, and bombs, and even my daggers. With precision and accuracy, if you would be so kind as to recall that desire demon from the other day…"

Fenris leaned in to capture her gaze, eyebrow creeping up. "Whether or not you do have precision and accuracy, Hawke, I would rather not find out by being flung out of my hammock and into the jungle in the middle of the night. There are hungry tigers out there. Ones who would eat you…"

She snorted, though a hint of a blush crept up her cheeks as she took in his wolfish smile. "We weren't even rocking that much, Fenris. I can't believe you were scared by that!"

Fenris gently swayed the hammock himself, helped by a slight breeze that stirred the humid, warm air and set the jungle insects humming all around them. "_This_ isn't much rocking," he said instructively. "What you were doing felt like being on the deck of a ship in the middle of a high summer gale. _Sideways_. While laying down." He tilted towards her swiftly, pitching the hammock a little and chuckling when her eyes widened and her hand tightened on his chest.

Hawke even went a bit green at the motion and the mention of ships, sliding her hand out of his shirt to hold it up in placation. "All right, all right, point taken, Fenris. Maker's breath…"

Fenris settled back down beside her, smiling to himself. Then, seeing the pout on Hawke's face, he nuzzled close to her ear, teasing, "Say it…"

She tsked, resuming her massage against his chest and stubbornly remaining silent.

"Hawke…" he said in a low murmur. She ignored him, but tracing her ear with his nose, he wrested a small shudder from her — but still no words. "Say it, Marian…"

She writhed some more and lightly dug her fingernails into his chest, but despite Fenris breathing into her ear, Hawke did not succumb — until he ran his lips along the shell of her ear and swept his thumb across her mouth.

Her lips parted slightly, and the silky feel of brushing across them contrasted sensuously with both the slick and rough feel of her teeth against his skin. Fenris's resolve soon strained almost as much as Hawke's, then shattered fully as she sighed and captured his thumb, licking the pad of it, adding the susurration of warm breath and her tongue's velvety texture to the tempting mix of sensations.

Eyebrows going up and stiffening a little, Fenris utterly forgot what he had been trying to accomplish in the first place — nor could he think ahead either, caught in the present moment fully without the ability or awareness to wonder what might come next.

While still holding his thumb in her teeth, Hawke turned to look at him and whispered, "You are the hammock victor."

"Um… quo?" he asked, face rather blank. The two of them blinked at each other a few times before he caught himself. "I mean… what?"

She released his thumb and kissed it, a triumphant smirk spreading across her lips as her eyebrow arced up. "That _was_ what you wanted to hear, wasn't it, Fenris?"

Fenris cleared his throat and forced himself to look at her eyes, not her mouth, fingertips fidgeting across the pad of his thumb before he hastily stilled his hand. "Well… Perhaps not that specifically, but… something like it, yes," he said.

"You should have just asked," Hawke murmured, closing the small gap between them to give him a sweet kiss. Then she tickled the underside of his chin, fingertips softly tracing along his markings. "All this noise and thrashing from you. People will talk…"

"Hmm, no, we can't have that," Fenris agreed a little distractedly. Then he brushed his fingers across Hawke's cheek, smiling. "You know, it was usually much quieter here before you."

"I cannot help that, Fenris," she said with a mysterious smile. Then she inclined her head graciously before burrowing under his chin again. "But I will take it as both a compliment, and a hint. I know tomorrow will be a long day for you."

He frowned at that and tried to look at her face, wondering what she meant, but Hawke seemed to doze off immediately once again, leaving him in silence except for the surging hum of insects and the distant crackle of the fire.

The abrupt solitude rattled him a little, so Fenris set the hammock swinging again, quietly looking up and trying to catch a glimpse of the sky. Though the night was clear and the air did not have any feel of rain to it, the stars were visible only in small swaths where the thick canopy of jungle foliage parted in the breeze or flickered in and out of existence entirely.

_This isn't so bad, _Fenris thought, a sleepy, crooked smile on his lips as Hawke clung to him. Urged on by the sway of the hammock, he let go of his worries and strained his senses only to better enjoy the sultry night and the feel of her in his arms.

_Tomorrow? _he wondered, thinking back to her last words. _I know nothing of tomorrow. But, for tonight, I feel… content. Safe. Though Seheron seems an unlikely place to feel either, so far it has been the only place that came close… _

Hawke shifted, her fingers sleepily brushing across his chest a few times before coming to rest over his heart again. Fenris looked down at her, then at the markings curving across his skin under her hand, sighing to himself. _I suppose it is only fitting that I might find peace in a place that is known for anything but. _

A pair of footsteps began to recede in-step with one another, and Fenris turned away with closed eyes before the Fog Warrior couple passed by to return to their watch. Though their faces were hidden in darkness, he couldn't bring himself to look at them._ I also suppose it is only fitting that that peace and this place are beyond my grasp now, _he thought, absentmindedly running his hand along Hawke's back.

She sighed in her sleep, arching into his touch. Then, without seeming to wake, she murmured, "Need you…"

Fenris kept his eyes closed, the stroke of his fingertips unfaltering despite his slight surprise at her words and that she had spoken them. "I wish I could understand why," he said quietly to himself.

"You want… 'n need," she mumbled, hand warmly flexing against his chest. "Promised, Fenris… Always keep…"

"I don't understand that either," he whispered, so softly that he could barely hear himself over the rustle of the fronds overhead and the thick brush all around. "Not any of it. It feels… too strange."

Hawke nestled her face against him, seeking his exposed chest, her cheek pressing cool on his skin. Fenris could feel her shifting, first a nod then a shake of her head as she settled against him. "Feels," she sighed, lips whispering over his flesh.

He remained silent, deciding to let her rest, though he himself still didn't seem able to sleep. Despite his closed eyes and a sudden deep weariness that welled up from inside him, neither the breeze, the sway of the hammock, nor the steady, slow breaths of Hawke could lull him any further than a hazy fog that rolled over his thoughts as slowly and thickly as the dense mist that so often coiled through the Seheron jungle.

_Even if I don't sleep, this can be enough, _he told himself firmly, doing his best to relax and gather his strength. _How many nights I have spent sleepless — guarding Danarius, evading his hunters, plagued by dreams… This should be easier. Better. More… right, surely._

Still, he could not shake the feeling of oddness, that something was amiss, that he was forgetting something. It set his instinct for self-preservation on edge, fighting against the dull lethargy that for all its hold on him couldn't quite let him fall asleep.

_Why can't I just sleep? _he began to despair. _Even here, even when it feels right, even with Hawke… Marian. What if tomorrow brings an ambush? What if tomorrow, I have to run? Hawke said it would be a long day, so something will surely happen… and nothing good ever happens when she says that. Nothing good ever happens to me._

Suddenly he could hear the clank of armor and the crackle of footsteps approaching from every direction, a circle of menacing sound that encompassed the Fog Warriors' camp and began to draw inwards like the tightening of a noose. Fenris shot upright in the hammock, eyes snapping open only to squint against a sudden flood of morning sunlight.

Yet he was not so blinded that he could not make out the robed figure that strode calmly into the center of camp, manicured and ringed fingers clasped together nonchalantly behind his back, steely, hard eyes sweeping with disdain over the smoldering campfire and quiet circle of sturdy bungalows until settling on Fenris himself.

"Ah, I knew I would find you here, my pet," Danarius said, a joyless smile broadening his lips. He lifted one hand, slowly crooking a finger at him. "Come to heel, Little Wolf. I have spent enough time searching for you these past months — I do not wish to waste even more."

Fenris froze, only able to move his eyes, which slowly slid downwards to look next to himself. But he was alone in his hammock — indeed alone in the whole camp, he noticed, alarm growing as his eyes frantically began to flick about. He saw no one else but himself, except of course Danarius and the contracting ring of armed guards his former master had brought with him.

"No," Fenris said in an agonized whisper. _The Fog Warriors… Hawke…_

"What you meant to say was 'Yes, master,'" Danarius answered airily, waggling his finger at a spot on the ground beside himself and to his right.

When Fenris didn't budge, the soldiers drew into a tight knot around his small bungalow, faces completely hidden behind the steel masks of their helmets. They came to a halt, leveling their weapons at him and staring silently and eerily through dark eyeholes, waiting for orders, or for him to make a move.

Only one of them, with a plume on his helmet denoting him as a captain, stepped forward, a gold collar and leash in his hands.

Fenris finally clambered out of the hammock, backing up into the doorway of his little hut. He couldn't remember anything suddenly, not the names of any of the Fog Warriors to call out for help, not where he had put his sword, not the best route of escape from the secluded clearing — nothing but an old, familiar, deep-seated fear.

"Well, I can see we will have some work to do," Danarius said, eyebrow going up. He sighed dramatically, delicately sweeping his fingertips through his coiffed, black hair which was ever so slightly beginning to be peppered with gray. "But I should have expected as much. You always did have trouble with your _memory_…"

Fenris stiffened at that, though he did not have enough strength in him to grit his teeth, let alone fly at the magister as part of him screamed to do.

"Well, what can one expect from a fool knife-ear," Danarius continued. "Especially one who cannot even hear when his master commanded him not to leave the ship as his slave was _carrying him_. Tsk tsk… Really, to have such ridiculous ears and yet refuse to use them? Obvious insolence." The magister shot him a hard, tight-jawed look of reproach. "No, I intend to whip you myself for that, Little Wolf."

"I saved your _life_," Fenris growled, his whole body flushing warm and tensing with sudden strength. "Though it nearly cost me my own, and I have regretted doing so every second of the last three years, _Danarius_."

His former master ignored him utterly, turning instead to summon a shield as the Fog Warriors began to pop into the clearing in small groups, the all-too familiar battle already in progress. "To me, Fenris!" Danarius called. "Kill these savages! That is an order from your master!"

Suddenly finding himself by the dead campfire with Lethendralis in hand, Fenris looked down at himself, taking in his as-yet unstained armor. His gauntlets, his vambraces, and his chestplate were all still clean and shining, his black tunic and leggings unsullied, his greatsword's honed edge untainted by blood. Everything seemed sharper, brighter, and slower, but there was no sound except his own ragged breathing.

_I cannot do this, _Fenris thought, locked in a ready stance regardless, markings flaring to life as Danarius fled to stand behind him. _Not again. I told myself never again!_

A shield sprung up around him, the magical bubble shimmering and hazing his vision for a moment before it popped and settled over his skin. It tingled, hissing against his markings like a spray of ice water hitting the center of a blazing fire.

_No! _he thought, wishing there was some way to peel the shield away from himself. _This didn't happen before. And it will only make me more dangerous. But I can't rid myself of it. I can't rid myself of any of it!  
_

"I never wanted this!" Fenris said, voice half a growl, half an agonized cry. "Not any of it!"

"I know you mistrust mages," a sweet, friendly, and slightly exasperated female voice called, "but I _am_ trying my best, you know. Maker, my sister has really gotten us into a fine mess, now…"

"Hey, elf!" a raspy voice added. "Blood mage behind you! Duck!"

Fenris spun instead, looking behind himself just as Danarius was forced to wheel backwards. The magister scrambled away, trying to avoid a hail of crossbow bolts that nearly punched through the magical sphere that surrounded him as he directed his shades.

"Varric?" Fenris asked, expression crinkling with confusion. He swept his keen eyes along the thick tree line and underbrush but saw no allies. "Bethany?" he called.

There was a nudge against his shoulder, then an arm slipped around his waist, jostling him warmly. "Will her sister do for now?" Hawke asked with a smile.

Fenris blinked several times, staring down at her. "What…?"

"Bethany and Varric are covering us from the trees," she explained quickly, taking him by the hand. "We should get out of here while we still can."

"But… the battle," he said, looking around at the agonizingly slow, silent assault between Fog Warriors, shades, guards, and Danarius.

Hawke searched his eyes when he looked back at her, a concerned, sad frown on her lips. "Nothing you do here is going to change its outcome, Fenris," she said quietly.

In wordless acknowledgement of the truth of her words he bowed his head, only to wind up staring at their joined hands. Hawke's bare fingers intertwined with his gloved ones, and her palm felt cool and dry where his was hot, sweaty, and still glowing with lyrium.

Squeezing her hand after a moment, Fenris nodded once. "I will follow your lead."

Hawke squeezed back, smiling broadly, then began to tug him towards the tree line. "Try to keep up!"

Together, they ran from the battle, leaving Fog Warriors and foes alike behind them as they plunged into the thicket. Hawke apparently made a beeline for Varric and Bethany, who were hiding behind the thick, tilted trunk of a soaring palm. They both smiled and nodded as Hawke drew close with Fenris in tow, then turned and followed as she continued to forge a path through the jungle.

"Where are we going exactly?" Fenris asked, scrambling to keep up with her. Despite his familiarity with the area, he realized he had no idea where they were, nor where they were headed, and he could find no landmarks to orient himself by to even make a guess.

Hawke glanced back over her shoulder. "We're going to the ship, of course!"

"Of course," he responded without thinking, falling silent and focusing on keeping his footing instead of asking for clarification.

Varric piped up from behind to give it regardless. "Rivaini's waiting for us along the coast. She's really taken a shine to freeing slaves, it seems, heh!"

"No one should be subjected to that fate," Bethany said. "We'll all be getting out of here together, Fenris. My sister will see to it — won't you, Sis?"

"One way or another," Hawke laughed, sounding a bit breathless. "It's kind of what I do, after all." She continued weaving her way through the misty jungle, seemingly without any direction, rhyme, or reason, though she seemed confident enough in her chosen path.

Though he wasn't winded at all, Fenris soon began to trail behind Hawke, still holding her hand but growing a little more apprehensive the further they ran. She in turn only grew more breathless, soon panting heavily and practically dragging him through the underbrush.

"Problems?" Varric chuckled from behind. When Fenris turned back to look at the dwarf, he saw that he was strolling along behind them, keeping up without even having to run despite his short legs. Bethany was now nowhere to be seen either, and surprisingly a pang of worry throbbed through Fenris for her safety.

"Women, huh?" Varric said with a wink, petting his crossbow and thrusting his chin forward towards Hawke.

Fenris looked back at her, but all his questions died on his lips as he realized that they had arrived at the coast while he had been distracted. The three of them stood on the southern shores of Seheron, facing a ship that bobbed slowly with the swells of the sea, a crisp, cool wind whipping at their faces, smelling fresh and briny.

Hawke doubled over and pressed her free hand to her stomach, struggling to take in air, so Fenris drew close to rub her back, frowning with concern. He still held her hand, squeezing it, and she mutely squeezed back as she took in a few deep breaths.

"You came all that way by yourself?" she muttered, giving him a weak smile. "Maker, what an unsustainable pace…"

"I've gotten used to it," Fenris said with a shrug. Hawke gave him a slightly skeptical look, so he more truthfully added, "Well… somewhat used to it."

She silently nodded in satisfaction at that, seeming to recover herself as he continued to massage her back.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Fenris realized that Varric was staring at the two of them while scribbling something in his pocket-sized notebook. Curiosity got the better of him and warily he asked, "What are you doing, dwarf?"

"Just being nosy," Varric replied with a grin. "Don't mind me though — you guys head along onto the ship. I'm right behind you." He inclined his head to the vessel, which had docked and extended its gangplank to a pier that had seemingly appeared while Fenris had been tending to Hawke. Then the dwarf turned his eyes fully to his notebook — other than stealing the occasional furtive glance at the pair of them.

Hawke straightened, drawing closer to Fenris, and hand in hand together they eyed the ship with a bit of apprehension for a long moment. Then they turned to look at each other, silently staring into one another's eyes with almost as much hesitation.

"Ships scare me," Hawke admitted suddenly, chewing on her lip as her eyes flicked over to the boat.

Fenris felt a crooked smile lift one corner of his mouth, inclining his head a little. "I am not accustomed to them, myself," he chuckled. "But… there really isn't any other way to leave this place behind."

She paled and swallowed, nodding gravely. "There's swimming… but, I suppose that is rather out of the question."

An involuntary shudder racked Fenris as he thought about being alone, stranded out at the sea, surrounded by vast, watery emptiness with nothing in sight. "No," he agreed hoarsely. "Being tossed around on a ship is preferable to being simply tossed around, I think."

Hawke glanced at the vessel, weaving a little herself as it bobbed up and down on the waves that slowly lapped around pier pilings. "Maker, I almost don't want to do this…" she whimpered.

"I… know how you feel," Fenris said, sighing. Then, as she continued to list, he wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her and cupped her chin in one hand. Hoping to give her more reassurance than he truly felt, he brushed his thumb across her lips and caught her gaze. "But… we have come this far," he said. "Perhaps…"

She smiled against his thumb, searching his eyes with a deep warmth that emboldened him despite their shared unease. "Perhaps… it might not be so bad," she agreed slowly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "So far we haven't come across anything we can't handle…"

"And we cannot stay here," he added. "So…"

"So… we'll just have to hope that your composure complements my seasickness," Hawke said, going a bit green as her smile faltered. "Andraste's queasy knees…"

Suffused by a sudden and unexpectedly strong wave of concern and fondness, Fenris leaned down and hooked his arm under Hawke's trembling legs, sweeping her up into his arms. "Come then, woman," he teased. "Enough of your dawdling." She made a small, startled noise, clinging to his neck as he began to walk across the beach, and he muttered with a laugh, "And here I thought you bolder than this…"

Hawke relaxed her stiff back, eyes narrowing with a smile. "And here I thought I was too heavy for you…"

Fenris easily carried her down the length of the pier, keeping a careful eye on his footing. "You may be heavier than you look," he said, heading for the gangplank, "but Danarius was far heavier." He shifted his gaze to her face for a moment, flashing her a smile. "And you aren't squealing and writhing like a stuck pig like he was… That helps, as well."

Hawke laughed, running her hand through his hair as he carefully boarded Isabela's ship with her, mounting the narrow walkway. "I'll save the squealing and writhing for once we are well underway," she said, smiling mischievously. "We'll need something to keep us entertained, after all. It will be a long trip."

"Oh, I don't know," Fenris said. "As long as I don't have to hide in the cargo hold and sleep behind crates of qunari cheeses, it can't be as bad as my last voyage…" He carried her over to the deck hatch and set her down, keeping a steadying hand on her waist.

Hawke patted his chest, chuckling, "I think you'll find these accommodations are better than that. Though Isabela _may_ have exaggerated a bit." Then she paused, biting her bottom lip for a moment. "It is a little cramped at present, so I hope you don't mind sharing."

"That depends," he said. "It… will be just us, won't it?" He eyed Varric near the prow and Isabela perched behind the ship's wheel up on the bridge deck before looking at Hawke again.

"Unless you have someone else in mind… Yes, just us," she said with a slight smile.

"Well then…" Fenris opened the hatch and made a polite gesture. "Lead the way."

Isabela started shouting orders from the helm, and Hawke took him by the hand, smiling warmly. Fenris let her lead him belowdecks, the two of them making their way together down the steep, narrow stairs, then along a long, dark passageway. When the boat began to pull away from the dock, they tried to steady each other against the unpredictable, rolling motions, laughing a little nervously and clinging to each other's hands as they did their best not to stumble the entire way to their cabin.

Hawke eventually stopped in front of a carved door with a fine, silver doorknob, inclining her head at it. "This would be us," she said with a shy chuckle. "I do hope you like it."

Keeping his eyes on her face, Fenris reached over and opened the door. "From what I have seen of it, I already do, Marian." Then he backed into the cabin, taking her by both hands and pulling her inside with him.

Looking into his eyes as he drew her in, she came to him wordlessly, and a warm blush soon crept across her cheeks that matched the warmth that stole across his whole body, easing away the remnants of his earlier pains.

Then, as the sails unfurled and the brisk wind tugged the ship out into the wide, open waters of the sea, the door closed behind them with the soft click of the latch, leaving him alone with Hawke. Soon in each other's arms, they set about acquainting themselves with their new, close accommodations before taking up the pleasant task of figuring out how best to pass their time on the long voyage ahead.

* * *

_Trouble Follows Her, Even in Dreams_

Barefoot in the middle of a bleak, foreboding cavern, Hawke stood alone, peering out into the empty blackness.

"Fenris?" she called, turning around, intuitively sure that someone was behind her. But no one was there, and it was Anders that stood before her when she faced forward again.

"Marian, I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me," he said, rushing towards her. "Please — you must forgive me. I never meant to give offense."

"It's all right," she sighed, looking away as he reached out to her and took her hands in his. Already a little disappointed that he wasn't Fenris, she grew a little further disconcerted with the familiarity of his gesture.

"I am so relieved to hear you say that," Anders said, fingers twining with hers. He gave her a sad little pout, tightly caging her hands. "I was so rude and stupid… Please forgive me? Pleeease?"

Despite her willingness to accept his apology and put their earlier strangely heated argument behind them, Hawke pulled her hands out of his grasp, though she did so as gently as she could manage. "Oh Anders, you know I think of you like family," she said, quickly clasping her hands behind her back, just in case. "I just wish you and Fenris could get along — I care about you both. You just need to get to know him better, and he just needs to realize there's nothing to be jealous-"

Her words trailed off as Anders suddenly wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, trailing the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

"You are the one I want to get to know better, Marian…" he murmured. "You know I care about you deeply — we are so alike, you and I. We are friends, but we _could_ be… so much more."

His fingers began sliding down the side of her neck, and Hawke found she was too frozen with astonishment to pull away.

"I… I don't know what you mean," she chuckled, blushing and shaking her head. "We're friends! I think of you like a brother! You… you must have had too much ale again and think I'm Bethany." She reached around and patted Anders's back, forcing out a laugh despite her stomach twisting and flopping.

Anders didn't laugh, however, and he held on tighter as she tried to pull free from his arms. "Marian," he whispered, "Marian, Marian…"

The weight of her name falling from his lips sank her stomach even further, and Hawke gave him a skeptical, sidelong glance. Then her entire body tensed as she saw his unmistakably half-lidded and heated gaze. _Andraste preserve me,_ she thought numbly, _I didn't mean for this to happen!_

"I haven't had any ale," Anders said, slowly turning her face towards his, meeting her eyes as he pulled his fingertips down her chin and throat. "And we both know you left Bethany in Kirkwall — with very good reason, I see."

Hawke's dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, rendering her speechless as his hand began to play across her necklace and collarbone rather intimately. Anders's fingers tingled with magic, static electricity raising goosebumps all over her body as much as her deep chagrin.

He smiled, eyes only for her, though they seemed to ignore the expression on her face. "Down here, we can be together," he said. "No Chantry, no Templars…"

Hawke began to squirm, frantic eyes finding no refuge and no one else in the deserted, dark cavern. "But… you hate the Deep Roads!" she cried. "And what about Bethany? She is a mage, an apostate like you! You'd be perfect together!"

"Shhh…" Anders slid the fingers caressing her throat around to lightly grip the back of her neck, and he began pulling her face towards his own. "Let me show you how magical and perfect _you_ are Marian… and how wrong you are about Fenris."

"What? No, Anders! No, we can't!"

Anders ignored Hawke's plea, for he did not release her and he did not relent. She placed her hands against his chest and began trying to push him away, but she felt oddly weak and had no strength at all to slow him, let alone to stop or repel him. She leaned away instead, bowing backwards as far as she could as his lips continued to draw closer to hers in slow motion.

_No! _she thought, panic tightening her chest as the rest of her body strained. _Anders isn't the one I wanted to kiss, he isn't the one I wanted to hear these things from! Why can't I escape? This is all wrong! It's all so terribly, awfully wrong!_

Then a deep, feral growl echoed from somewhere behind her, making both her and Anders halt.

"And just _what_ do you think you are doing, _mage_?"

A hand like warm, silk-wrapped steel gripped Hawke's arm and yanked her bodily out of Anders's grasp, already humming and glowing with lines of lyrium. Fenris angrily inserted himself between the two of them after separating them, thrusting Hawke behind himself as he faced the overly-amorous healer.

"I'm doing what you won't!" Anders retorted with a booming voice, staff suddenly in hand. He slammed the butt of it against the ground, lightning as blindingly white-blue as Fenris's lyrium markings crackling out of it in all directions. "You have hurt Marian too many times, but I… I will heal her!"

Hawke clung to Fenris, hands grasping his shoulders as she peered around the black points of one pauldron to observe the jealous exchange.

Fenris kept one hand behind himself, pressed protectively against her waist as he jabbed Anders in the chest with a bright, long finger. "_I _will take care of Marian," he snarled, punctuating each word with a savage poke. "Save your precious _healing_ for yourself, mage — if you do not leave her be, I promise you will soon have great need of it."

Anders wheeled backwards, rubbing at his chest. "You're an animal!" he cried. "It isn't fair, it isn't just! You hate me simply because I'm a mage, and you don't want me around Marian because of how you feel about magic!"

Fenris growled again, and Hawke reluctantly let him go as he released her and advanced on the apostate. "I don't want you around Hawke because of how I feel about _her_," he snarled. "She is _mine —_ forget that at your own peril, Anders."

Hawke pressed her hands over her mouth and gasped, heart pounding at Fenris's ardent words. She found she could do little else, standing dumbly by and watching as his markings flashed even brighter with each step as he hunted after the apostate. She briefly wondered how Fenris could manage to loom over the mage that was taller than both of them, but soon thought with growing heat, _Maker, no angry man or elf should be allowed to be this sexy…_

"Fine, you crazy bastard!" Anders said, mouth twisting with scorn. "Though this isn't fair, I'll go. But maybe I should thank you for proving my point." Fenris came to a halt and simply glared, but Anders's sour gaze soon shifted from him to Hawke. "Marian… remember what I said," he warned, pointing his staff at her. "When you tire of being treated like this, you know where to find me." Then the healer strode away in absolute silence, even his booted footfalls and the tap of his staff strangely absent against the stone cavern floor.

Fenris stood rigid except for his flexing fists as he watched Anders retreat, and even from a distance Hawke could easily make out his furious and suspicious expression despite his striking, white hair hiding his eyes from her. The fierce, flickering glow of his lyrium markings indicated even further how he felt about the former Grey Warden and his advances towards Hawke.

Her eyes shifted back and forth from Fenris's sharp profile to Anders's broad back, her hands still pressed over her mouth. _I don't understand,_ she thought, blinking as she studied Fenris's stiff, lanky figure. _There should be nothing for him to be jealous of! This isn't like Anders at all; my argument with him yesterday only started out about Fenris, and he seemed more eager to talk about magic and Bethany and Father… not anything like this! _

The cavern floor began to tilt as she wondered about Anders, and she flailed a little, feeling herself losing her balance. She was pushed even further off-kilter as Bethany and her Father both suddenly appeared in the distance, apparently sitting down to a picnic with Anders in the middle of the Deep Roads.

Hawke had no time to ponder any of it, however, the ground slamming back down flat as Fenris spun to face her. His piercing green eyes locked onto hers when he began to stalk back towards her, and to Hawke's surprise, his dark expression went darker still as he looked at her. All the rage and jealousy in him seemed to turn fully upon her, and all three mages vanished in a blinding flash of blue behind him.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked, holding her hands up as she began to walk backwards. Her eyes quickly took in the grim determination in his gaze then traced Fenris's brightly glowing lyrium markings from his toes all the way up to his throat, then down to his hands — which were still flexing into tight, now-gloved fists as he pursued her.

"_You_…" he said with deceptive softness, coming up on her faster than seemed possible, even for his impressive elven warrior's speed.

Hawke felt a quiet whimper escape her lips and she scurried back even faster, bare feet slapping against the stone.

"We need… to talk," Fenris growled as he loomed in her field of vision. "_Now._"

"Of… of course," Hawke said with an uneasy chuckle and smile, both which fled immediately as her back struck the unyielding cavern wall. Her hands dropped to her sides and her eyes locked on Fenris's as he firmly planted his palms on either side of her head, and she shivered as the rasp of his gloved fingertips against the stone set all her hair on end.

Despite saying they needed to talk, Fenris merely stared hard at her for what seemed like hours, narrowed eyes accusing her without him needing to speak. Unable to do much except look back, she searched his face over and over, fear, desire, and curiosity mounting steadily as she studied him.

His eyebrows were drawn deeply down, black, sinuous curves that her fingers wanted to caress, and she knew intuitively that she could soothe away the tightness along his jaw. She ached to taste the dissatisfied pout on his lips, wanting to tease out one of his rare, beautiful smiles instead, but Hawke forced herself to stillness, acknowledging that his expression meant that he was displeased with her — yet again.

Fenris began to lean in closer, close enough that their noses almost touched, and Hawke's eyes widened as a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension sang through her. His lyrium talent limned him fully in a blueish glow that somehow did not make her squint despite its brightness, casting his elven features in a hauntingly seductive light that drew her even more to him despite her uneasiness.

"Um, thank you for stepping in with Anders," she finally said, fidgeting as her eyes flicked back and forth between Fenris's eyes and the markings below his lips. "I truly don't know what got into him. One minute he was apologizing, then the next…"

"I warned you, Hawke," Fenris said, giving the barest shake of his head. He leaned even closer, their cheeks brushing against one another's until his face was alongside hers, and he spoke directly into her ear. "Perhaps you cannot hear me. Or perhaps I just need to hold you down and teach you how to listen…"

Hawke swallowed thickly at the feel of his strong body pressing along the length of hers, the raw energy of his lyrium talent thrumming against her entire front. Suddenly she was quite glad for the support of the rock behind her; for all that it made escape impossible, it kept her from crumpling to the ground at his feet.

Voice still too-quiet, Fenris continued speaking into her ear. "I've told you before and more than once, Anders is a snake who will strike the second he finds an opportunity. If I hadn't been there… if I hadn't stopped him…" He pulled back just enough to regard her, his mouth flattening into a deeply disapproving line.

"Well… I'm glad you showed up!" Hawke said a little too brightly, fighting to ignore her discomfort. She flashed a lopsided smile, her usually reliable charm strained under the weight of Fenris's intense gaze and intimate closeness. Shifting, crushed between him and the wall, she struggled simply to keep a grip on herself. "I do keep telling you I need you, Fenris" she said, looking down.

"It's obvious that you do," he agreed with deadly seriousness. "But what do you _want, _Hawke? Anders?" Fenris ran one of his clawed, glowing fingertips across her lips. "Is that why I keep finding you with him? Is that why you will not heed my warnings?"

"What? Of course not!" Hawke said, tasting the tang of metal on her lips. "I can hardly avoid him entirely, Fenris, but he came to me. He wanted to apologize, and I trusted-"

Fenris's eyes narrowed even further as she spoke, so she changed tacts. "I didn't know, really! Anders isn't… I could never…" She shook her head, trying to take a deep breath to steady her nerves. "But I do know I didn't want, that I _don't _want what Anders… seemed to want. Surely you must know that."

Markings flaring brighter, Fenris slammed the hand he still had next to her head against the stone, the metal clatter making her jump. "Oh? Must I?" he asked, bitingly sarcastic tone grating against her ears even more than the squeal of metal on rock as he made a tight fist. "Then why don't you help me understand, _Hawke_."

Hawke flinched, hunching inward and looking away, but he cupped her face and turned her back to look at him.

"Tell me," he said, voice dropping to a perilous hush. "Tell me what you _do_ want_._"

A bit flustered, she answered, "I want us… all to get along?"

Immediately there was a strange, disembodied tinkle of laughter, startling and confusing Hawke, though Fenris seemed not to hear it.

He made a derisive grunt and asked, "You truly think it possible?"

His claws pressed into her chin and throat and Hawke found it to be a surprisingly sensual ache, her eyes quickly slipping shut. Fenris's presence illuminated her vision even through closed lids, and with other senses heightened she could acutely feel the power of both lean muscle and lyrium markings coursing through his honed warrior's body.

Yet despite such vivid reminders of his true nature, she murmured, "Maker, it couldn't hurt to try…"

Fenris's left hand scraped down the stone wall to snake around her waist, and he pulled her hips and her face closer. "I am almost tempted to let you," he said, somehow making it almost a threat. But his lips brushed hers as he moved to place a deceptively tender kiss on her cheek.

Hawke's eyes fluttered open in surprise and her gaze locked on the glowing lyrium markings at his throat, exposed by the few undone top buttons of his silk shirt. _He truly is a living weapon, _she thought, _able to wield his body, his markings, and even his voice with such dangerous skill. I know how foolish it is to play with weapons if you don't know what you're doing. And yet, Maker and Andraste help me, because I cannot help myself…_

Wordlessly she ran her hands up Fenris's flat stomach to his shoulders and back down again, half-wondering if he was testing her, expecting him to admonish her further. Then she smiled, forgetting her worries as he let out a low, sensual sigh and began caressing her throat. She continued to massage his chest and he relaxed, quietly resting his forehead against hers, their noses nuzzling one another sweetly for all that she was still pinned in place and utterly at his mercy with his markings ablaze, lighting the two of them.

Hawke all too happily allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of calm, mind drifting towards blankness and assuming Fenris was similarly entranced — until he spoke.

"Hawke…" he murmured, tilting her chin up so their lips touched again. "You have not told me the whole truth of what it is you want. So I will ask you again. And you will lay yourself bare before me, or else… I will do it for you."

Even as she reveled in the dangerous edge always lurking just beneath the surface of his languorous voice and posture, Hawke felt her knees trembling, ready to give way — but Fenris had her fully, body and soul, and it was clear she would be going nowhere until he allowed it.

"What do you mean?" she asked, going breathless as he crushed her fully against the wall. "Maker, Fenris, why are you doing this? I'm trying to be responsible for once, trying not to be reckless!"

"Yet here you are," he countered with a smile. "Here _we _are. Alone together." He squeezed her waist tighter, then gave her the barest of kisses, lips lingering just a hair's breadth away from hers after the fleeting motion. "Mmm, my reckless Marian. What have you gotten yourself into this time? I protected you from Anders, but… no one is here to protect you from me."

_Andraste preserve me, _Hawke thought, fighting to breathe normally. _His lips, the way he says my name… It is no wonder I feel lightheaded!_

"Did you even think of that, Marian?" Fenris asked, whispering the words and a kiss against her mouth. "Did you think I was harmless? Or do you perhaps… like the danger?" He pulled back and searched her eyes when she remained speechless, his unrelenting, predatory gaze seeking out the answers that her mind and tongue fumbled to give.

"I… I…"

Hawke couldn't think, feeling herself beginning to melt under the heat of Fenris's surprising kiss and intensity. Her strength and resolve gave way along with her knees, but he thrust his leg between hers to keep her from sliding down the wall.

"Yes," he said, pausing to trace her lips with his own. "Perhaps you do want this. But you still haven't told me — and I want to hear it from your lips."

Yet her only response was a ragged, weak groan, torn from her throat as Fenris ground his muscular thigh against her. Winding tendrils of lyrium tingled her skin even through his leggings and her pants, and she began to list to the side as waves of pleasure sapped her strength. But Fenris tightened his arm around her waist, holding her upright, keeping their lips so close that they nudged and brushed against each other.

The sensation of almost-kisses grew more maddening and unnerving the more Hawke fought to stand and regain her composure. "No, you'll leave," she managed to gasp, growing increasingly helpless in his arms. "I don't want you to go. I can't just say it, Fenris…"

"You _can_, Marian," he snarled, squeezing her with a jarring shake. "I've seen it on your face, I can see it in your eyes now. I could reach _through_ you to feel your heart if I wished…" He let up on Hawke just enough to trail a gauntleted fingertip down to her left breast, markings momentarily flashing brighter when he pressed his humming palm against her chest.

"We both know what I am capable of," Fenris said with a warning smile, one that she knew she found far too alluring for the peril it represented. "You cannot hope to best me, not when we are face to face like this. It would be far less reckless for you to simply… _yield_ to me."

Hawke shook her head, heart pounding and lungs constricting, though the words wanted to roll off her tongue. "No, Fenris, no…"

"Yes, Marian," he murmured, hand gliding up her chest to grasp the back of her neck. "_Yes…_"

Fenris swiftly closed the gap to kiss her, and she slid her hands into his hair, fingers tangling in and fisting the lengthy, white strands. His mouth slanted over hers, thigh between her legs, strong arms drawing her up and against him with passionate intensity, and Hawke moaned helplessly into the kiss, opening her mouth and affording him the slightest opportunity to exploit her weakness — which he did without hesitation.

His deft tongue swept against hers quickly and unrelentingly, and the heated fervor of their intimate embrace crushed Hawke back against the cavern wall again. The flitting power of his lyrium talent seemed to course into and through her, intensifying the intimacy and shattering the bounds of what she thought her body could withstand. Knowing she could not fight back against him even if she wished to, Hawke simply melted further against Fenris as he surged against her and began to caress her left breast through her soft, gray shirt.

Breathlessly she tugged at his hair before her hands slipped down caress his face and neck, scrabbling to feel more and clinging to him with a desperation that she was too far gone to be alarmed at. Indeed she did not stop to think about any of it, her mind as consumed by him as her body and her breath. The only resistance she made at all was when their tongues tussled back and forth briefly in a flurry of motion, a clash that left her panting and Fenris smiling darkly when he finally broke off the attack.

"Well, Marian?" he rumbled, green eyes glittering in the light from his markings. "Do you give in? Will you tell me what you want?"

Hawke sagged, able to tell by the tone of his voice that Fenris already knew he was the victor. It took a long moment before she caught her breath enough to speak, but a warm, soothing calm stole over her that suddenly banished her usual hesitation.

"Yes, Fenris," she said, threading her fingers deep in his thick hair and pulling his face close again. "All I want… is you." Her eyes closed of their own volition as her lips spoke against his, but she could feel the slow smile already beginning to curve Fenris's seductively generous mouth.

"Go on…" he said, hands sliding down to cup her backside.

Hawke wrapped her arms around Fenris's neck and gave him a tender kiss, though she squirmed a little as his fingers began kneading her through the seat of her already rumpled pants. "I love you," she whispered, keeping her eyes closed and ignoring her furious blushing.

He simply responded with a rather offhanded, "Mmm-hmmm," and pinched both her cheeks at once.

Hawke felt her face burning even more, but Fenris kissed her with enthusiasm, seeming to quite enjoy the way she kept fighting to maintain her composure with his clawed gauntlets digging into her ass. Trying to gather her composure and her courage as their kiss wound down, she then opened her eyes and drew back to look at him.

"So, now you have heard it from my lips," she said. "I need you, I want you, and I love you, Fenris. That is the whole truth."

Fenris silently accepted her declarations, remaining still except for his eager fingers. Hawke searched his face for a moment, trying to keep from feeling even more self-conscious when his expression remained unreadable to her, then with an unsteady sigh, she shook her head and looked away.

"This is why I couldn't tell you, yesterday," she said. "It didn't feel like the right time."

He began to chuckle softly, and she glanced askance at him, taking in the look of dark satisfaction that was finally spreading across his face. "Maker," she muttered, "now doesn't seem like the right time for such weighty talk either."

Fenris gave her a deep, wry smile that made her ache for him despite the fact that he seemed to have completely disregarded her ardent confessions of love. "You talk too much," he chided, slapping his hands against her round, firm buttocks. "And I don't think you _have_ told me the whole truth, woman."

Hawke jumped and wriggled, an involuntary noise of surprise and pleasure escaping her lips. "What… what's gotten into you?" she asked, wide-eyed and feeling as though her own body should be aglow with how aroused she felt. "This isn't like you at all, Fenris."

"I told you to have a care around me," he reminded her, a predatory smile pulling up one corner of his lips. "You truly don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Marian."

Hawke swallowed at that and tried to take a deep breath, but Fenris was there first, covering her lips with his own, filling her mouth with lyrium-fueled heat that sent her reeling again. Each breath she managed to gasp in was soon squeezed out of her as they embraced one another, Fenris completely crushing her against himself and against the stone with his superior warrior's build.

"You are still hiding things from me," he murmured between eager, hungry kisses. "You have said much, but you still haven't told me what you want. You need me, you want me, you love me — but I want to hear you say what you want me to _do_ about it."

He used his grip on her ass to pull her legs open wider, exposing the juncture between her thighs to the grinding of his hard, muscular leg. "I want to hear it from your lips, Marian," he growled insistently, rubbing against her with sinuous, lithe movements. "Exactly what you want… Say it. _Tell me… _We both know you want to."

Hawke tilted her head back, whimpering and panting under the relentless assault. She could tell that the feel of his powerful lyrium-lined thigh rubbing against her sex would be more than enough to drive her over the edge, especially given her already-heightened state of arousal. _But I want more_, she thought heatedly, though she struggled to voice her desires to him. _So much more…_

"Maker, Fenris, your body, your markings, your… everything," she groaned. She tried to catch her breath and order her thoughts, but Fenris leaned his head to the one side, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. "You…" she sighed. "You're driving me crazy. I can't think! I don't even know where to start…"

"Oh really? I see," he chuckled after a moment, eliciting a profound shudder from Hawke as his warm breath whispered cold against her licked ear. "Well, you should know by now that you cannot hope to win against me head on, Hawke. The only logical course is… to _surrender_."

Fenris continued to breathe heavily into her ear and voice shaking, she said, "I-I'm the rogue here, burn you. It should be me who isn't fighting fair." _Andraste's quivering thighs but he isn't making it easy to keep from being reckless…_

Reading her mind he dragged the points of his gloved fingertips down and along the insides of her thighs, digging sweet lines of pressure into her increasingly sensitive skin. Hawke made a slow, throaty sound of frustration, but Fenris merely responded with a teasingly low, drawn out, "Mm-hmm," humming it against her throat just before he began to kiss and suck it.

Hawke knotted her hands tightly in his hair, holding him against her as he alternately laved and nibbled her neck. The hot, broad sweeps of his skilled tongue were punctuated with icy inhalations and tender scratches of teeth, and she couldn't even think enough to decide which she found more delightful, let alone ask for more. Hissing with pleasure, she simply guided him to the other side of her neck.

"Unfair man, the way you taunt me so…" she groaned.

Fenris paused, and without looking up he said, "Taunting is what warriors do, woman. But, I can stop if you wish…"

Hawke didn't even have time to vehemently protest, however, before he buried his face against her even more hungrily. Even in her daze she could tell by his deliberate, ardent attentions that he knew perfectly well what he was doing to her, despite his demands that she spell out for him what she truly wanted.

"I… I know where you sleep, remember," she sighed, failing miserably at making her voice sound stern enough to tease him back.

Neither of them so much as slowed however, and the sweet, tortuous undulating of her sex against his thigh continued too, despite their threats. The slick heat in Hawke rose as steadily as her temptation to confess every single intimate detail of her desires to him, her only fear that he would indeed stop if she didn't comply with his demands.

"Maker's breath," she moaned, frustration for release thick in her voice. "I don't know what's gotten into you!"

"I think we both know this is more about what hasn't gotten into you," Fenris replied easily, chuckling low in his throat as he brushed his lips along her collarbone. "Speak, stubborn woman. Unlike you, I am always listening."

Her toes curled as Fenris swept her hair back and his mouth traveled up her neck to nibble on her ear. "Oh you insufferable man!" she said with a scathing hiss. "Keep it up and just see what happens…"

"Ah. So this is all you want, then?" he asked, breath hot in her ear. "For me to… keep it up?"

_Don't beg, _Hawke thought, feeling rather desperate all the same._ I want so much more, and he did ask — so all I have to do is say what I want. All I have to do is say…_

"Um, w-well, I… I…"

Fenris ignored her stammering and resumed his attentions, additionally sliding his hands up her rear to her waist before feeling his way under her shirt.

_He's reading my mind, _she thought, shivering with pleasure. _Maker, and just as well, too…_

Words indeed failed Hawke when she felt the humming heat of his marked hands, the leather of his open-palmed gloves, and the slightest catch of his metal-sheathed fingertips trailing up her sides_. More, _she thought, reveling in the intensity of his lyrium-enhanced caress on her skin. _If only he would do that amazing thing with his tongue to my other ear, if only he would touch me more, if only I could manage to tell him everything I wanted!_

Yet without her saying a thing, Fenris switched to lick her other ear and began unfastening her breastband, taking the time to rub her back just as the desire for a massage fleetingly crossed her mind. Growing suddenly suspicious despite her elation, Hawke began to disbelieve her good fortune — even though she was thoroughly enjoying it.

Then abruptly it also occurred to her that Fenris had maintained the simmering of his lyrium talent for far longer than she could ever remember, and Hawke found her concentration and voice just long enough to sate her curiosity.

Taking advantage of the pause while Fenris concentrated on working her breastband's clasps, she pulled back to search his face. "What's different about tonight?" she asked, eyes narrowing a little.

"How do you know anything _is_ different?" he countered with a small, crooked smile, easing her undergarment off. "Perhaps each night I dream of you, just like this…"

Involuntarily she made a soft whimper, his words, the feel of his metal gloves scratching down her back, and the shifting of fabric against her sensitive breasts making her nipples pebble with a sweet, tight ache. Gooseflesh broke out all along her body as Fenris held her eyes, tossing her breastband carelessly aside before he placed his hands on either side of her head again and considered her with heated intensity.

"Speaking of which…" he said, voice low, deliberate, and dangerous again. "This is your chance, Marian. Tell me what you want of me."

Hawke swallowed thickly, going very still. "You do mean…"

Fenris's large, expressive eyes flicked up for a moment. "I mean what I say," he growled with strained forbearance. When she remained silent he sighed, trailing his right hand down the row of buttons on her shirt. "Last night, you wanted me to hurry up and rip this off you, did you not?"

Looking away in embarrassment, Hawke said, "Well… yes. But how did you-"

Fenris gripped her shirt with both hands, tearing it to shreds without any apparent hesitation or effort. He watched her eyes widen rather than the impressive spray of scattering buttons or the sway of her exposed breasts as she squirmed, though one of his eyebrows quirked up before he made a short, appreciative grunt. Then he stripped the ruined shirt off of her, throwing it aside to crumple on top of her breastband before he looked back at her face.

"There," he said, planting his hands against the wall and leaning languidly into her again. "That wasn't so difficult. So… now what?"

_Now I'm fucked,_ Hawke told herself, unhinged and aroused by the feeling of being dominated by a man who usually was so wary of her. She tried to take a deep breath to steady herself, but her exposed, tender breasts brushed against Fenris's silk shirt, which made her ribs hitch and her core rub against his thigh, driving her breathless instead.

A band of tension began to squeeze her chest even tighter, wringing a desperate gasp from her lips. "Damn…" Hawke wheezed. "This _would _be the part where everything goes horribly wrong for me…" She pressed one hand to her bare chest, leaning back against the wall and licking her dry lips.

"Not tonight," Fenris growled. "Not if you don't want it to."

Hawke didn't have the chance to speak, for within the span of a heartbeat he flashed her a disarming smile and his mouth covered hers. His tongue quickly chased and flicked against her own as if blaming it for her distress, and he tore her hand away from her chest to cup her bare breasts in his gloved palms.

The sensation of his hands teasing her with lyrium, leather, and metal soon drove Hawke to disregard the need for air entirely, and fighting a dizzying wave of passion she gripped his arms and held herself still. Fenris soon slowed and deepened both the kiss and his caresses, exploring her with soft and intimate strokes, warmly and sensuously urging her to relax even as he made it impossible for her to do anything but go taut as a bowstring.

Hawke was eventually forced to breathe, the air rushing into her lungs only to drive her aching, peaked nipples against the rough skin of Fenris's hands. She pulled away with an agonized groan and arched against the wall into his solid, immovable body, too stimulated and breathless to continue but too aroused to pull away.

"Just let me catch my breath," she said, fingertips easily tracing along the markings on his neck though she blinked dazedly up into the black depths of the cavern ceiling.

"As you wish," Fenris replied, releasing her breasts to embrace her once more. "Take whatever time you need… I certainly intend to."

What remained of Hawke's suspicions and forebodings fled again as his hands glided to her lower back and massaged her, fingertips pressing up and along her spine to pull her even more tight. Then Fenris leaned in and buried his face between her breasts, white hair tickling pleasantly against her skin as he nuzzled and tasted her creamy flesh. Hawke sagged further back and ran her hands over his shoulders with a sigh as he ghosted across one heavy mound to suckle her, capturing and teasing a rosy bud between his soft lips.

"Maker, Fenris," she gasped, taking an expansive, stimulating breath that swelled her breasts even further against him. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted this…"

He simply made a hungry noise and switched to her other breast, tongue lashing hot against one peak as the first, wetted nipple tightened in the cool air. He maintained the slow, soothing strokes along her back with his left hand, bring his right around to tortuously knead her again while Hawke deliriously grew more pliant under his touch.

She began to wriggle against him in her arousal, but Fenris made an impatient, threatening growl and pressed his teeth into her, nipping her breast with a sensual roughness that chastened her into submission.

"I'm sorry," Hawke whimpered, forcing herself to stillness. "No fidgeting — I've learned my lesson, I swear. Just don't stop. Oh Maker, please don't stop…"

But he straightened and yanked her fully upright too, propping her against the wall. She began to slump and chew on her lip, but Fenris wrapped his arms around her waist, adjusting his stance to slide his thigh between her legs again as he pressed his body fully against her.

A quiet growl rumbled in his throat as his strained leggings nudged her hips. "You want…" he prompted gruffly, one black eyebrow arching up.

Hawke's hands gripped his arms again as she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal throbbing against her. It seemed impossible that she could withstand it, but the desire coiled deep within her wound even further, and she felt her own slow, pulsing tightness at the thought of just how pleasurable sating each other's needs could be.

"Sweet Andraste, yes, I want," she blurted as her mind and body turned to liquid heat in his arms. "I want you, Fenris, all of you, tonight, now. Take me up on my promise — I will give you anything you want. _Anything. _Just say it, show me, or do it, and I'll make it better than you could ever imagine, I swear." Hawke held his quiet gaze, for once hoping that her sultry thoughts were easily readable in her eyes. "I don't care what we do, Fenris…" she said with a slow shake of her head. "All I want is to feel you _everywhere_."

Fenris's expression froze except for his eyebrow twitching up even higher as he blinked at her. "I… see," he said, and Hawke pleasantly noted how he was unable to keep his voice from sounding hoarse.

_Have I rattled him for a change? _she mused as they quietly considered one another. _For all his earlier fierceness, perhaps he was enjoying our intricate, slow back and forth, too. Still… _With the light from his markings, she did not doubt that the flush she could feel creeping up her cheeks would be plainly visible, but she refused to feel self-conscious about her desires any longer. _He did ask — several times, _she reasoned, _and we are two very, very healthy adults…_

Impatiently, Hawke reached for Fenris's narrow hips and drew him as close as she could, kissing him hungrily when he came to her. More than a little intrigued by the hardness tucked away in his leggings, she wriggled into him ever so slightly and smiled her own wry smile against his mouth when a small groan escaped his lips.

_Ooo, baby, _she thought with a shiver, _I'd love to hear more of those delicious noises…_

Fenris's breaths indeed became wonderfully raspy as she slid her hands under the hem of his silk shirt and ran her fingers along the waist of his leggings. Hawke grew even more achingly curious to get into them, and his markings brightened in approval when her hands moved down to grasp his tight buttocks and squeezed playfully to urge him on. Fenris complied, lithely arching his spine and thrusting slowly against her, growling into her mouth, all just as she had been hoping.

As she devoured him and worked her hips against his in a slow, teasing onslaught, Fenris's gloved hands began to go limp and scrape down her back until he caught himself and gripped her waist. Hawke reciprocated by digging her fingertips into the hard muscles of his ass before raking her short nails up his limber back, sliding his silk shirt up to bare his skin as she went.

Fenris soon broke away from her kiss to rest his forehead against her shoulder. "Oh Marian…" he groaned, before sagging against her with only a wordless sigh.

_Now it is your turn to be at my mercy, _Hawke thought with satisfaction as her scratches wrung another deep grunt from him. _Let's see how you like a taste of your own tactics, Fenris… _

"So…" she murmured into his ear, pausing to run her tongue along the edge of it, all the way up to the pointy tip and back down. His arousal pulsated strongly against her hips a moment before the rest of him shuddered, and Hawke almost lost her will to continue toying with him right there, more than ready to give over to desire.

But as she exhaled her own needy sigh against his ear, Fenris swore under his breath fetchingly in Arcanum, and the promise of hearing more of his gravelly murmurings renewed her motivation her to draw their foreplay out a little longer.

Dragging her fingers and Fenris's shirt up to his shoulders, Hawke insistently pulled the silk over his head and so he had little choice but to straighten. "The question now is, Fenris… what do _you_ want?" she teased as he sighed impatiently from somewhere within the fabric.

As she had wanted, he stood and whipped the shirt completely off, drawing an immediate and involuntary appreciative noise from her as she surveyed the glowing, unmuted markings vining all across his bare arms and chest. Then, before he had a chance to speak the disapproval that was plain on his face, Hawke lunged for him, snaking one hand behind his neck and coiling her other arm around his waist as she bent to capture one of his nipples in her mouth.

Whatever protest Fenris had been about to make turned into a strangled groan, and Hawke smiled to herself as she licked and swirled her tongue over the small, hardening nub. She sucked gently in between flicks, growing more confident in her ability to please him as he threaded his fingers tightly into her hair.

"Venhedis," he hissed, fidgeting in her arms for a change as her teeth nipped him with aching softness.

Now that his long shirt was off, Hawke could clearly see out of the corner of her eye the obvious stirring in his leggings as she tended to him, and she could feel herself tighten with anticipation and need, too. She swiftly switched to his other nipple, slowing to circle and tease it erect before swiping the velvety flat of her tongue across it.

"Fasta vass, woman," Fenris groaned, head dropping back as he flexed his fingers in her hair. "Sometimes I forget how cunning you can be."

"It's what rogues do, Fenris, but I can stop if you wish," she teased, sucking a few more times before pausing to glance up at him. Taking in his dazed, half-lidded expression, she blew gently across his licked skin making him shudder, the swell in his leggings also surging noticeably. "Unless you want me to keep it up…"

Without waiting for his response, she ran a hand along his thigh and sank lower, trailing the tip of her tongue all the way down to his navel. She dragged a circle around it before kissing his flat stomach, pausing again to blink up at him with a pleased smirk.

Fenris took in a juddering breath before peering down at her, a crooked, devious smile already on his lips. "You should be more careful, Hawke. Your mouth will get you into trouble."

Smiling back, she shrugged and said, "Very true. It usually does." Then she pursed her lips and trailed kisses back up to his sensitive nipple, holding his smoldering gaze with a sultry one of her own as she nipped at it one more time.

He clenched his jaw, inarticulately murmuring another Tevinter swear as his hands trailed down to caress her face, and Hawke slid her bare chest against his as she drew herself up, leaning into him. Giving Fenris a playfully serious look, she asked, "But, why else would I need to be such a skilled rogue, if not to handle all the trouble I get myself into?"

"I see…" Fenris said, hands trailing down her neck and shoulders to twine his fingers with hers. Then, before Hawke knew what was happening, he deftly slammed her against the cavern wall, chuckling softly when she yelped. He easily overpowered her as she instinctually tried to slip out of his grasp, pinning her arms up with his steely, unyielding grip and locking her legs between his long, lean muscular ones before pausing to look her over.

Keen eyes drank in the undulating of her naked breasts as she struggled ineffectually against him, then Fenris asked, "Rogues are best from behind, are they not?"

Hawke froze, blushing furiously and drawing in a ragged breath as he continued to stare at her voluptuous curves. "Oh sweet Maker," she whimpered, shaking her head weakly. "You want…"

Fenris examined her with a critical sweep of the eye, checking her pinned arms and his leg hold on her impassively, the feel of him throbbing against her the only thing that gave away his true motivations. "Mm-hmph," he grunted, nodding to himself in satisfaction. Then he shot her the most deeply wicked look she could ever remember seeing on his face, and Hawke tensed all over with anticipation, moisture already dewing her thighs when she saw the raw heat in his gaze.

"Yes…" Fenris said, eying her with a slow nod. "I think perhaps testing myself against you in your most _skilled_ position is what I want… first."

"You… read my mind again," she whispered, trying to shift her legs as the heat between them swiftly built to an almost painful ache.

Lyrium tattoos burning with more intensity, Fenris pressed up against her with eagerness and longing, his lean, hard body even harder where his pulsing shaft prodded into her hip. But despite the urgent way they both moved against one another, he gave her a deep, sweet, encouraging kiss and slowly lowered her arms, his tender attentions belying his earlier roughness.

He even shivered against her when she held him and traced the markings she could feel on his sides, and Hawke kissed him back with as much loving care as she did with passionate heat.

"You did promise me anything," he said against her lips when they paused for air, cupping her chin in one gentle hand.

"I did," she murmured back, taking his hands and placing them on her hips. She guided him, helping peel herself out of the last of her clothes when he hesitated. "And I happen to be the most skilled rogue you know," she added with a smile, "so you know it will be the best… just as I said."

Fenris raised an intrigued eyebrow and trailed his fingertips up her naked legs once her pants and underthings crumpled to the ground. "What about Isa-"

"I _will_ stab you," Hawke said, jabbing a finger under his nose as she kicked her clothing aside with one foot. "And just so we understand each other perfectly, that is _not_ innuendo, Fenris."

He just laughed, wrapping his arms around her nude body as he shook his head at her. "So jealous, and so very _dangerous_ when jealous," he teased, nudging the tip of his nose against hers. Then he ran his large, strong hands from her bare shoulders all the way down to her naked thighs, long, lyrium-limned fingers grazing tantalizingly between her legs. "But you are so very beautiful when you're dangerous…"

"Flatterer," Hawke said distractedly, writhing as his hands swept around to the front of her. "Just remember that I'm always… um…" Her jealous train of thought slipped away and her head rolled languidly to one side as he drew his fingertips through the nest of curls at her apex. "So very dangerous," she murmured, not sure if she was completing her thought or starting a new one.

"I think I am up to the challenge regardless," Fenris said with a cocky smile before he gripped her wrists again and spun her around. He placed her hands against the cavern wall, then firmly pulled her hips back, caressing her bare buttocks for a moment before squaring off in an easy stance behind her.

Hawke held very still, anticipation tightening within her so strongly that she dared not move even in eagerness. "If you leave me like this Fenris…" she sighed, hanging her head and closing her eyes.

He chuckled softly and the slight movements of him unlacing his leggings reassured her that he was still there behind her. "I'll be here if you need me, remember?" he murmured, fingertips and loosed, stirring length nudging against her, gently probing for her warm depths.

"I always have, Fenris," she said, shifting only slightly, just enough to open herself to him. "But never more than I need you right now…"

He responded with a wordless, blinding flare of lyrium light, one of his hands gripping her hip as the other grasped her by the neck, arching her completely back into him.

Suddenly suspecting that he indeed wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, Hawke's last lucid thought was that she rather looked forward to the trouble she was getting into for a change. _I'd match my agility against your strength any time, Fenris, _she thought as he drew her even tighter, _for this is a much more pleasant way to strain my skills to their fullest…_

He satisfied her desire just as she thought it, surging into her with all of his considerable might. Her mind quickly shivered and shattered, her dream melting into a blurry tangle of warm sensations of nothing but her and Fenris.

* * *

**A/N: **The next full chapter will be coming soon! ;)


	38. Interlude: Cursed in the Deep, Part 1

**A/N: **We passed 300 reviews since I last posted! Whaaat? How squee-y does that make me! Thank you, as always, for continuing to be amazing readers and reviewers!

I still read each and every one, and even if I don't respond to all of them, whether they are short or long, mashed on the keyboard in excitement or carefully penned, I appreciate them all and that you took the time to post it. I also truly thank you for your kind words of support and encouragement. They have actually helped me make a slightly scary, major decision*.

Also, I do apologize for the lengthly gap since the last chapter — lots going on IRL. The delays have been mostly for positive reasons*, though there was one not so great week I spent passed out from an evil summer cold. I also already have a significant portion of the next chapter written, so it should not take too long — I am shooting to have it up in maybe a week.

* As for my decision/reason for delays! I have decided to officially aim for becoming a writer/video game writer, so the past month or so has involved a lot of behind-the-scenes work, research, paralysis, soul searching, agonizing, reading, advice-soliciting, office preparation, resource-gathering, etc. in addition to actually just writing. I am still working out a variety of kinks in my schedule/situation/own head, but rest assured that working on and completing this story is one of the cornerstones of my overall plan. :)

And now for dessert: Our amazingly talented NineShadows whipped this up after finding out it was my birthday after I found out it was _her_ birthday. Happy birthday to us all, I say! http :/ /fav. me / d47swoq (remove the spaces, as always!)

With that, on to the actual story (I apologize that it is _not_ as long, for once!) BioWare owns all…

* * *

_6 Justinian - 9:31 Dragon_

As usual only Bodahn and Sandal were up and bustling about that morning when Bartrand emerged from his tent. Steely, narrowed eyes taking in that breakfast preparations were already underway, the expedition leader cursorily surveyed the rest of the campsite, a close cluster of tents — just as he had ordered. Still, he ground his teeth and huffed through flared nostrils, disturbing the offensive silence. Though it was earlier even than his usual hour to rise, he glared around, face darkening with disapproval as he stomped over to Hawke's tent.

"GIRLY!" he called. "You, Varric! My tent! Meeting in five-" Bartrand's gruff commands cut off when he lifted the tent flap only to witness Fenris on hands and knees, straddling Hawke's prone form.

"Great Ancestors, what in the…!" the expedition leader roared.

"Nemas kevesh," Fenris muttered, shaking himself further awake as he attempted to get his bearings. The sound of someone approaching had just barely roused him from his deep, peaceful slumber, but his instinctual burst of motion to confront their intruder had only resulted in flipping Hawke over, face down, and him falling on top of her in a heap of tangled limbs.

_Fasta vass, _he thought to himself groggily,_ it is only Varric's brother_. Though slightly better than being set upon by magisters, hunters, darkspawn, or wild animals, Bartrand's presence was still of small comfort to Fenris as he came more awake. _It seems I, too, have trouble rousing now.__ Hawke's influence is insidious…_

He tried to extricate one leg from where it was pinned between hers and remove his hand from inside her shirt, also fighting lingering sleepiness and an acute awareness of Bartrand's judgmental gaze boring into his back. It didn't help that Hawke seemed to be barely stirring, still clutching Fenris's arm like a pillow and stubbornly trying to sleep on even with the sudden flurry of activity in their tent and around her.

"Fenris, wha…?" she grumbled, turning her head to peer up at him. His face consumed her entire field of vision as he hovered over her, though his hair and the darkness hid most of his expression.

"Move," he commanded in a murmur. "Quickly."

Hawke's bleary eyes widened, for Fenris's low, gruff tone surpassed even the alluring sound of his voice in her dream. She suddenly realized his hand plunged deep inside her shirt and his hips pressed against her backside, and a slow smile spread across her face at the realization she wasn't still asleep. In fact, she began to feel quite alert.

_Thank you, magnanimous Maker!_ "Mmm, don't I even get a 'good morning' first, Fenris?" she purred, arching into him.

Fenris went completely rigid.

"Nothing good about it from where I'm standing," Bartrand said with a snort, causing Hawke to freeze too. "Paragons below, it even smells like the Blooming Rose in here!"

Fenris gritted his teeth and flicked his eyes up at the expedition leader's mocking, though kneeling above Hawke he himself had noticed she had a distinctly intoxicating scent about her. Matters only got worse as she began trying to wriggle out from underneath him.

"You didn't say… I didn't know Bartrand was… oh Andraste's singed buttocks, let me up!" she hissed, squirming and twisting as she tried to slide her way out.

"Release me so I _can, _Hawke," he growled, still struggling to untangle his limbs from hers. She lifted herself up to unpin his arm, and they hastily unwound their legs, but Bartrand had already seen enough.

"Gah, I'll be by my tent. Sodding knew bringing a woman along would lead to… unpleasantness…" The expedition leader shook his head and averted his gaze from the sight of Hawke's undignified crawling and Fenris's hasty backwards retreat. "Just put some damn clothes on and find Varric, Girly," Bartrand grumbled. "Five minutes — don't keep me waiting!"

Hawke and Fenris finally scrambled to their feet, both tugging and brushing at their mildly disheveled clothes, but the eldest Tethras brother had already dropped the flap. They soon heard him stomping towards the hirelings, roaring, "Time for the rest of you to stop dicking around, too! This is a business venture, not a sodding honeymoon…"

Unable to look at Fenris, Hawke rubbed the back of her neck and tried in vain to put her dream out of her mind. Her cheeks burned as the carnal scenes flashed in her thoughts anyway and she fidgeted, discretely trying to shift her bunched underthings. _Andraste's damp purple pantaloons, what a way to start the day… _she groaned to herself.

Fenris kept his eyes elsewhere too, staring at a nondescript knot on one of the wooden tent poles. He hunched over more than usual, hands dangling limply at this sides. _It figures… I can do nothing without scrutiny,_ he thought, mouth turning down in a bitter moue. _What was I thinking? I should have known getting entangled with Hawke would lead to this._ _Was it the wine? No, surely not — wine barely affects me. This was… simple carelessness. _He sighed a deep and silent sigh at his own folly, hanging his head.

_Too soundly asleep to hear that dwarf approaching until he was almost upon us_… he told himself reproachfully. _Reckless. How could I be so foolish? _Vague recollections of his dream stirred, but he could remember little besides feeling restful and at ease until the moment Bartrand was suddenly there, hollering.

_Had we been in danger, my negligence could have cost us dearly, _he knew. Fenris thought of the hunters, of Danarius, of darkspawn and many other foes, each just as eager as the next to exploit his slightest weakness to lethal effects. His hands curled into defiant fists and he slowly shook his head. _I am not meant for easy sleep… I should have remembered that last night. That I found it at all is a wonder, but… it is just as well that I am reminded of reality before I forget myself._

Fenris then noticed Hawke's continuing shifting, how she kept distractedly rubbing at her throat and chest with one hand while the other ran over her hip. He gave her a sidelong glance, keen eyes examining her body for a moment. Then he looked away again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I hope I did not injure you when I tried to rise."

Hawke froze. "No! Nothing like that," she assured him.

Fenris tried to remain nonchalant, brushing the backs of his fingers over his jaw and shrugging. "I awoke abruptly, when I heard someone approaching the tent. Not knowing what to expect, I thought it best to… prepare." Hiding a sudden blush, he looked even further aside. "I… did not have time to recall our… um, sleeping arrangement." _Foolish…_

"Oh. Um, yes," Hawke said, clearing her throat. She kept her eyes on her hands as she clasped them together in front of her, twiddling her thumbs fitfully. "Totally… understandable. Couldn't have foreseen all that, of course." _Though I wish I had… _she thought ruefully._ Trying to arouse you with Bartrand looking on was hardly my master plan of seduction…_

_**I** could have foreseen it, _Fenris thought. _How many times did Danarius blast my door off its hinges, accusing me of oversleeping, of lazing about on my oh-so-comfortable pallet, saying he could smell the scent of a woman — a dead one if he ever caught her — never realizing it was Hadriana all along. _

The silence stretched on for a moment, Fenris making no reply.

"Still," Hawke said with feigned cheerfulness, "better, I suppose, to be caught pleasantly unprepared than just…" Her gaze shifted over to him as she spoke, taking in his tense, defensive posture — though her eyes lingered longest on his muscular legs, which had featured rather prominently in her dream. "Unprepared…" she finished in a murmur. _Maker's breath, that elf is entirely too much man, dream or real…_

"I would prefer to not be caught at all," Fenris said, scowling at the tent flaps.

At his dark tone, Hawke shook herself out of her daze. "Ah, come now, it wasn't that bad," she said, trying to put both him and herself more at ease. "I'm not a fan of surprise visitors either, but… it beats a visit by a horde of darkspawn. Or my mother…" she added in a mutter. "Someday we may even look back on this and laugh. 'Remember when we managed to scandalize Varric's irascible older brother before breakfast? Oh, how I miss the Deep Roads; surely those were the good ol' days…'"

Fenris just made a disgruntled noise, keeping his back to her.

"Really, there's no harm done, Fenris," she said. _Except to my pride, perhaps,_ she added to herself, rubbing at her brow. _Maker, I hope Bartrand gossips less than his little brother…_

_No harm done… yet, _Fenris thought. He kept his face turned down, combing the fingers of one hand through his hair as he stewed. _How am I to get out of this? She will be expecting this now… or more. More than last night even, perhaps. _He thought back to Hawke's rather personal morning greeting, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. _Fasta vass, I should have taken my own tent from the start…_

Hawke noticed the way he kept glancing and grimacing at their shared bedroll. "I… guess it wasn't the best idea to get so tangled up," she admitted reluctantly, "seeing as how we could be needed at a moment's notice down here. Especially since I am a heavy sleeper…"

Fenris shifted his gaze to a spot on the floor near his feet, hands hanging by his sides again. "The idea was my own," he said. "I should have… thought it out better." _I should have thought it out at all, _he admonished himself. _I may not have known what to expect, but I should have known something would happen…_

Hawke chewed on her lip as he slowly shook his head at himself. "I'm sorry that I tripped you up," she offered.

"Ach…" he grumbled, waving a hand and pacing a little. "The fault lies with me. I am usually far more alert. And… agile."

Hawke thought of how lithely he'd curled around her throughout the night, and how sinuously he'd molded against her in her dream. "I know," she sighed. "Me too."

She stood there for a moment, fingers brushing over her lips, lost in her reverie — until Fenris shot her a curious glance as he turned to pace the other way.

Snapping herself out of it then, Hawke reached to retrieve her pack from just outside the tent flaps. "Hopefully no one will be any the wiser to our bumbling. We have our fierce reputations to maintain, after all," she teased. She knelt in her usual corner to dig through her things, smiling a little at their atypical predicament.

Fenris remained silent, coming to a stop in the front corner of the tent. _After Bartrand's loud comments, the whole expedition will assume… things. _He couldn't bring himself to look at Hawke again, even though she had her back turned to set out her armor. He clenched his jaw and his fists, indignation and anger already starting to bury his embarrassment. _This will have undone her endeavors to be taken more seriously._ _And it likely means more scrutiny for me, as well… _He looked at the tent flaps, wondering if he fled if it would only serve to confirm suspicions. _But if I stay…_

"Well… no time to wash, I guess," Hawke sighed, sitting back on her heels. "Bartrand seemed in a hurry." She looked at Fenris's back when he made no motions at all. "We'd better get dressed," she said, hesitantly unbuttoning her shirt. "He must need something important to have dropped in personally."

"I doubt it," Fenris grumbled distractedly, staring down at himself in indecision. "Besides, he only wanted you and his brother." _Perhaps I __**should**__ go. Though where? To sit outside? To wander? To hide?_

"Oh. Is that what he said?" Hawke wriggled out of her shirt, then stuffed it into her pack. Her face crinkled in puzzlement. "Maybe it's something, I don't know, administrative, then."

Fenris continued standing in place, offering no comments and venturing no suggestions, and all she could think about was how delightful her first moments of waking up had been — and a pang of disappointment that Fenris seemingly would not be undressing, too. Naturally, the whims of Varric's surly elder brother seemed even more difficult for her to grasp than usual that morning.

_Hmm, I think I much prefer Fenris's inexplicable moods to Bartrand's,_ she decided, eyeing his lean, tall, elven frame, all clad in close-fitting black. _Yes. If a man is going to frustrate, fluster, or bewilder me, he should look at least that good doing it…_

"Well, whatever Bartrand might want," she finally sighed, turning back to her pile of armor, "I can't say I care for his timing."

_I can't say I care for anything about him, his timing least of all, _Fenris thought.

When he made an unhappy grunt of agreement without looking at her, Hawke paused in shaking out her underpadding, beginning to suspect his morning mood had already soured — again. _Two days in a row? We can't have that, now… _she thought. _We don't want a repeat of yesterday morning. Not after all that lovely cuddling last night… _

She hesitated for a moment, then placed her armor down before rising to her feet. Quietly she padded up behind Fenris, resting a hand on his shoulder and laying her cheek against his back, softly caressing his fingers. "At least _you_ needn't rush this morning," she said, eyes closing as her bare skin pressed against warm silk. "You can take your time…"

Fenris held himself rigid under her touch, eyes flicking between her hands and around the close tent as his nervousness spiked. A dozen reasons to pull away ran through his mind all at once, though he had thought he'd overcome his cowardice. "Yes, well… Bartrand is waiting," he said. "I… should not-"

His voice failed as her hand slid up his arm and across his chest, tracing the silky, open neckline of his shirt. He finally realized seeing her bare arm that she herself was already shirtless.

"Damn Bartrand…" Hawke muttered, eyes resolutely shut as she rubbed her cheek against Fenris's solid shoulder. Her fingers toyed with the first fastened button at the center of his chest. "If he comes by again, maybe I should explain my tent rules to him… I am an equal partner, after all."

Fenris cleared his throat and looked towards the tent flaps, almost expecting the expedition leader to come bursting in again as if summoned by the challenge. Hawke's hand began drifting down his shirt's row of buttons, trailing lower and lower along his abdomen, and Fenris's heart uncharacteristically started hammering in his chest. _We should not… cannot. I cannot…_ His whole body tensed, and he assumed it was in preparation to flee.

He began buttoning his shirt all the way up, his movements disrupting hers. "We all must do things we would rather not, Hawke," he said, eyes on his swift fingers. "This morning is no exception."

"Too true," she murmured, moving her hand from his shoulder to play with the trimmed ends of his hair. She dared to rest her other hand on his narrow waist, smiling to herself as his muscles flexed beneath the silk that slid under her fingers.

Fenris shuddered involuntarily as her fingertips tickled across the back of his neck and clutched at his side. Too late, he realized his resolve was not as constant has he would have liked to believe. "Forgive me, but I really need-"

"Don't start what you can't finish!" Bartrand yelled from his tent across the camp. "Been eight sodding minutes already, Girly. And I thought elves're supposed to be quick!"

Hawke's eyes snapped open, already looking to the hidden heavens in futile beseechment. _Andraste's grace, just one morning! That's all I ask!_

"I will not keep you," Fenris said, slipping out from Hawke's arms and making a hasty exit. He did not even look towards Bartrand, stalking quickly in the opposite direction of where the expedition leader glowered at their tent.

Hawke frowned at the tent flaps for a few moments, then folded her arms tightly across her nearly-bare chest, fighting down disappointment and her growing frustration. _Business first, pleasure later, I guess?_ she grumbled to herself. _I hardly expected to sleep the day away in Fenris's arms, but Maker… at least let me say good morning! _

She screwed up her face and rubbed at it with both hands, sighing heavily before smoothing her hair back. _Well, once we get back to Kirkwall, Bartrand will no longer be a daily obstacle to my happiness. This is temporary — whereas Fenris and I… _

Buoyed a little, Hawke hurried to don her armor despite her misgivings about the expedition leader and his reasons for meddling in her affairs that morning. _Plenty of time for sleep, wishing, washing, love, daydreaming, and more, once this expedition is a success and done with, _she tried to assure herself._ Ox before cart, and peas before pudding, as Father used to say. _

Thinking of him, Hawke smiled fondly and hoped her father would have been proud of what she was trying to accomplish for their family. The thought of seeing her mother and Bethany well taken care of spurred her on even more, and she finished dressing in a decidedly optimistic mood.

* * *

The rest of the camp hummed with activity when she emerged from her tent a few minutes later, looking as professional as she could manage, but the only other of her companions to be seen about was Varric. He lounged on one of the benches, waiting for her with an unconcerned look on his face.

"Hawke! Nice weather we're having this morning, wouldn't you say?" He lifted an open palm to the cavern ceiling with a broad grin. "Not a cloud in sight."

"Except for the little black raincloud that already paid me a visit," she snorted. "Or didn't you hear the thunder?"

"Heh! That I did, that I did…" Varric's head dropped as he shook it, and he sighed in commiseration. "Welcome to my world…"

"Given Bartrand calling on me in my tent, I had thought to have to look for you," she said, eyebrow going up. She gestured around their circle of tents. "Where'd Fenris and Anders go?"

The dwarf hopped off the bench and shrugged, brushing at his duster. "I dunno, they both took off without saying anything — and with those faces, it is probably for the best. They're off brooding and sulking respectively, if I had to wager a guess."

Hawke gave Varric a mildly reproachful look as the two of them headed in the direction of Bartrand's tent together, and the youngest Tethras sighed, waving a hand. "Sorry. I'm just not looking forward to this. My brother is up to something, I just don't know what yet. I was dreaming sweetly of Bianca in my tent when he came by, so who knows why he decided to bother you."

Sighing, Hawke shook her head. "I wondered that as well… or I would have, if I had been awake enough to when he dropped in." Varric made a apologetic grunt, and she added, "You know, your brother's lucky Fenris was half-asleep, or he might be short a heart right now."

The storyteller barked a laugh. "Shit, he doesn't have one to begin with! Ha!"

They both chuckled a little, lowering their voices as they neared Bartrand's tent. The expedition leader was intently scowling at an open panel on the water clock in the closest nearby cart, arms crossed over his broad, squat chest.

"Whatever wild hair got up his ass this morning," Varric muttered, "I really envy that Blondie and the elf get to skip out on hearing about it. Just let me do most of the talking, okay?"

Hawke put on her best professional expression and nodded, and together the two expedition partners approached Bartrand as summoned.

"'Bout time you got here," the surly dwarf said. He squinted his eyes first at Hawke, then at Varric.

After a sufficiently irate glare, he said, "So, I been thinkin' since yesterday…"

"Now he starts thinking?" Varric whispered in an aside, winking over at Hawke.

She pressed her lips together and glanced between the two brothers, hoping she looked more impassive and less anxious than she felt. Bartrand started to go crimson, but the younger Tethras plastered a serene smile on his face. "I'm sorry, brother. What I meant to say was 'Good morning.' As you were saying…?"

"I was saying, _Varric, _that things are going to change around here! I'm not liking the way this expedition is going. Not one _bit_!" Bartrand jabbed a finger towards his brother's nose. "For one thing, I could do with less of your smart-mouthing." His finger poked towards Hawke. "Second, I'm sick of everyone else lounging around while I do all the work! We'd be to the sodding thaig already if I could get the lot of you to keep up with me!"

Hawke blinked a few times, but she decided against looking at Varric or letting her skepticism show.

The expedition leader began to pace then, a deeply consternated expression creasing his face. "But, well… besides all of you shirking, things are just going _too_ smooth. The further we get down in the Deep Roads, the more I get the feelin' like something ain't right…" He stopped and squinted around the campsite with suspicion, tugging at his elaborately braided mustache.

"Some of the rumors say there's a reason this lost thaig's been untouched for so long…" He turned back to face them, eyes flashing as he looked between their blank faces. "Some people say the dwarves that lived there, the road leading there, the thaig itself… they're all _cursed_. And so is anyone who tries to find it."

Varric remained blessedly silent, though one of his eyebrows arched so far up that Hawke was certain Bartrand was about to try to rip it off. The look on the expedition leader's face when he noticed his brother's dubious expression was sufficiently ominous enough that she decided it best to intervene before the morning turned any worse.

"Yes, well, I imagine all the non-cursed thaigs are pretty well picked over by now," she said, managing pretty well to keep her tone respectfully even. "But… what exactly did you have in mind to thwart this… curse, Bartrand?

The expedition leader's piercing eyes shifted to her, then sized her up for a moment. "Hmph, well… I don't believe in a bunch of superstitious crap," he grumbled, "but I do trust my gut that something's gonna happen. And, seeing as how last night Varric couldn't stop yappin' on about how legendary you and your pals are, I figure we'll start with the four of you standing guard when we camp at night."

Hawke exchanged a glance with Varric, who then turned to eye his brother. "And uh, just when are we supposed to sleep, dearest brother of mine?" he asked.

Bartrand practically backhanded the air with his impatiently flicked gesture. "I don't care _how_ you do it," he roared, "or which one of you does it, or whether you want to do it! I just want someone patrolling, on watch, at _all_ times from now until I say otherwise! You got me?"

"Oh. I got you. But uh… what will we be watching for?" Varric asked sweetly. "A nug ambush? Bandit rats? Ghosts?" He cleared his throat, though the cough sounded ever so slightly like a laugh.

The expedition leader's expression blackened again. "Andraste's loose, flappy lips, Varric, it's the sodding Deep Roads! There's darkspawn! Spiders! Packs of wild bronto! Who knows what else could be down here with us? Or did you forget about all that while you were makin' up bedtime stories for the hirelings, swillin' your ale all damn night? Paragons preserve me…"

Bartrand's face screwed up with even more suspicion and anger, and he furiously resumed his pacing, twirling his mustache around one finger as he muttered to himself. "I knew I shouldn't have listened to you and brought those kegs along. Half my damn problem is probably that everyone's always drinking! Hmph… As if this is some kinda party… Maybe I should take my axes to them barrels, dump 'em out. Would speed us up, I bet, in more than a few ways…"

Varric paled visibly, the smile on his face faltering. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on now! No need to do anything so drastic!" He held out his hands in placation and Bartrand pulled up short, glaring as his brother looked to Hawke. "I'm sure we can work something out," Varric said. "Right, Hawke?"

She sighed, rubbing at her forehead. "I'm sure that between the four of us, we can figure out a schedule to take turns keeping watch. Besides, we should be reaching the thaig any day now, right?" Bartrand made a curt nod, and she let her hand drop, shrugging tiredly. "I don't know… it might at least make the hirelings feel more secure, I guess. I know a lot of them have been worried about being attacked. They are just simple laborers, after all, so it is up to us to protect them." She looked between the two brothers, feeling rather ineffectual.

"Damn straight," Bartrand said, slamming his fist into his open palm. "And I don't trust those Carta scouts, especially farther than I can see 'em, double-crossing bastards… So, that leaves you four." He peered up at Hawke, narrowing his eyes even more at her. "I only agreed to bring you along anyway because you were supposed to be handy in a fight, Girly."

"And for my _fifty_ gold, and the Grey Warden maps," she said with a smile, crossing her arms. "And you can call me Hawke, by the by. Or Marian. My parents did go through all that trouble of naming me to avoid people having to call me things like… well, 'Girly,' you know."

Bartrand flicked another dismissive gesture and made a rude noise, pacing a little more slowly. "Ppffth. The only names I'm interested in are the names of the ancient noble houses whose thaig we'll uncover two days from now." He paused and stared off with a greedy gleam in his eye, though when Varric nudged Hawke in the leg and pulled a face, his attention swiveled back to them.

"Speaking of which — sodding get going! The two of you have held me up long enough. I've got things to take care of, then we're moving out!"

The expedition leader stomped away without another word, and Hawke and Varric looked after him for a few moments. Then they looked at each other, eyebrows quirking up in a mirror image of the skeptical expression on each other's faces.

"Not much to be done for it, it seems," Hawke said.

Varric sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Nope. And I'm not about to risk all that ale _or_ the ire of the hirelings if it gets dumped out. Bartrand doesn't realize what really greases the wheels in a place like this… Easier to just humor him for one night. He'll soon forget all about this… paranoia. Honestly, I think he's just still pissed off about yesterday morning."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "No thanks to you."

"Trust me," Varric chuckled. "He'd have found something to get his panties in a twist over, with or without me giving us a bit of a break now and then."

They began walking back to their section of camp, busy hirelings stopping in their tracks to nod in greeting to Varric and stare in awe at Hawke. But her eyes were peeled for Fenris.

_His pack is gone, but the tent looks empty… Maybe he was worried Bartrand would barge in on him dressing. _Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. _Just when I was getting used to having a morning peek at his chest, too. Maker, this day is starting out all sorts of wrong._

Indeed Fenris and Anders were still nowhere in sight, and she began to worry about the day's prospects if both of them were in poor moods again. "I might let _you_ break the good news to our friends over breakfast," she said, glancing down at Varric. "It seems rather like an 'administrative' announcement and thus better suited to you. I'm more the executive, 'decision-making, idea woman' type, I think."

It was Varric's turn to slump, and he hung his head with a shake. "Bah. So much for being feckless. I _knew_ I should have never let you catch wind that I had the slighted bit of feck in me." His hand sliced the air. "From now on, no more feck. Ever. Completely feck-free." Hawke laughed as he resolutely shook a finger high in the air. "Strictly useless ornamentation, with a dash of crossbow showmanship, and good for the odd story or forty… that's me," he pronounced with solemnity.

She patted the dwarf on the back. "Hmm, well… feck or no, I wouldn't be here without you, Varric."

He beamed. "Aw, thanks Hawke."

"We just won't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing until we actually reach this cursed thaig," she added with a sly smile. Then her eyes flicked up and she tapped a finger against her chin in thought. "And find something of value. Then make it back to Kirkwall with our booty. In one piece. All while surviving the Deep Roads, a curse, your brother, and now sleep deprivation." She fought not to smile as Varric's face fell further and further the more she spoke. "Yes, I will have only you to thank… or blame," she said frankly.

Varric pressed a hand to his hairy chest, eyes twinkling despite the convincingly horrified expression on his face. "Madam, you wound me deeply with your plethora of doubts!"

"Let's just hope Fenris and Anders don't wound you with worse when they hear about these night patrols," she said, eyebrows going up. They stopped in the middle of their circle of tents, both taking one last look around for their two missing companions. "I imagine they'll turn up at breakfast…"

"I think I'll go get started on mine," Varric said. "I don't want to be nearby in case Bartrand thinks of some other random task that would soothe his bruised pride."

"Now now, watch won't be that bad," she reassured him. "We'll divvy up the duty somehow."

"I know," he sighed, already looking tired. "It's just that there's nothing down here coordinated enough to attack our camp, not if Blondie's right about there being no darkspawn nearby. Our biggest danger is when we're on the move." He shrugged, waving his hands testily. "Bah, but what do I know? I only researched the risks for weeks while my brother was haggling over the price of pick-axes… And trying to explain things to him would be even more pointless than standing around in the dark will be."

"It doesn't have to be completely pointless," Hawke said. "You can tell the hirelings over breakfast about all the ghosts you saw." She went over to her tent, the thought of breakfast suddenly reminding her that she needed to brew her moon tea. "In fact," she called back, "maybe I should nominate you for the middle watch… All that interrupted sleep should make you very receptive to spirits. And, well, this _is_ sort of your fault…"

Varric's mouth fell open, a chuckle of disbelief escaping in a huff. "Maker but you're a cold woman this morning! When did you become so ruthless?" he asked. She shrugged, smiling smugly at his surprise, but his eyes shifted over to her tent.

He scratched at his chin for a moment, then snapped his fingers, wagging one at her knowingly. "Ahh, I get it. The elf must be rubbing off on you."

Hawke began digging through her pack, eyebrow going up as her smirk went even more mysterious. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know…"

Cackling, Varric turned and waved a hand back at her. "I wouldn't, actually, but I'm sure I'll read all about it once we get back to Kirkwall." He headed for the mess tent, talking to himself in a Ferelden-accented falsetto voice. "Dearest Journal, you won't believe who kissed me then tickled my bum behind Bodahn's wagon when we were in the Deep Roads…"

Hawke scoffed, snorting with laugher so hard she nearly spilled her herbs all over the cavern floor. "I do _not_ sound like that, Varric, nor do I write like that! Honestly, it's like you want me to stab you this morning…"

"Ah, but I don't hear you denying it happened though!" he sang back without turning.

She felt her face flush at the thought of her and Fenris actually carrying on like that, but Varric was too far away for her to respond without a number of hirelings taking note. Hawke glanced around again, wondering if Fenris, too, was within earshot. _He seemed displeased enough with Bartrand's veiled comments, to say nothing of Varric's… imaginatively blatant ones. But I don't think he was around to hear that one, thankfully. Where **is** he, anyway?_

As she scanned the cavern, her eyes fell upon Anders instead. She frowned, feeling suddenly apprehensive, and quickly turned her attention back to pinching out her herbs. _Time to go… _

The healer reentered the camp, face looking washed if a bit drawn and scruffy, and he slung his bag into the back of one of the carts before going over to his tent. He stared down at it with abject mistrust, hands going to his hips.

"I hate this thing more every day…" he muttered, the tent shuddering as he poked at one corner of it with the toe of his boot. Then he glanced over at Hawke, who continued to ignore him, before sighing to himself. "I'll tackle it after breakfast, I guess…"

Anders took a few steps towards the mess tent, looking over his shoulder at her one more time. His expression went from unhappy to concerned as he observed her clutching her stolen tumbler. He turned back and hurried over, going to a close crouch beside her just as she was tucking her moon herbs away.

"Did you forget to drink that last night?" he asked in a hush, pointing at her cup. "Marian, you need to be more careful with those herbs. You can't just-"

"I'll be _fine_, Anders…" She could only flash him a sidelong look, finding it difficult to face him fully as she thought of their strange argument the day before — and how amorous he'd behaved in her dream.

"I just wouldn't want you to get… into trouble," he said. "I care-"

"Excuse me," Hawke mumbled, rising, "but I need to go eat. Bartrand is in a mood and I need to talk to everyone before we have to leave."

Anders stared at the ground as she hurried away. She felt a pang of guilt at his sad pout and hangdog face and for letting a silly dream and her own preoccupations keep her from patching up their friendship — but Hawke quickly forgot about him as she finally caught sight of Fenris as he was returning a bucket at the side of the mess tent.

Already armored, washed, and combed, she found him even more handsome than usual, especially with his newly trimmed hair, and a tantalizingly guarded expression still on his face. _Maker's breath, last night and then that dream, _she thought, biting her lip as she stared. _It is going to be hard spending part the night without him when one of us has to take a turn on watch… _

Fenris headed towards her, though he kept his head bowed. Hawke sighed, stopping in front of the mess tent and reflecting on their warm embrace and night of closeness as she waited for him. _Just when it seemed like things were looking up between us — but it figures this would happen, _she told herself with a small smile. _There's always something keeping my life from getting too boring… or too comfortable._

"Good morning, messere!" Bodahn said, coming over and smiling up at her from behind the counter. "I trust you slept well?"

"Never better," Hawke replied, her gaze slipping over and catching Fenris's as he stopped beside her. He looked aside quickly and she could have sworn he blushed, but the dwarf cook caught her attention again before she could get a good look.

"I ah, couldn't help but notice that messere Tethras seemed to be in a bit of a state this morning," Bodahn said, wringing his hands a little. "Is everything going all right with the expedition?"

"As far as I can tell, it is," she replied with a reassuring smile. "Bartrand just has some ideas for ensuring it stays that way, is all. Nothing to be concerned about, Bodahn."

"Oh, I'm not too worried — not for myself and the boy. We've seen plenty of sticky situations in our time, especially traveling with the Hero of Ferelden! And besides, you and your friends seem like able folk!" The dwarf picked up and handed her her usual tray, nodding. "Still, I find it's always good to keep an ear to the ground, just the same."

"That's very wise," Hawke said with a smile, taking the tray. Fenris, too, nodded in silent agreement, then took the tray from her as she tried to balance it on one hand, hiding her filched tea tumbler in the other. She gave him a quiet, fond smile, and he hurriedly looked away again.

She turned back to the merchant-cook, a curious look still on her face, remarking, "You know, you're probably one of the most experienced adventurers along on this little excursion, Bodahn. What you're doing making us porridge, stew, and sandwiches I'll never know — though I can't complain. Last night's stew was very scrumptious." She glanced back at Fenris. "Didn't you think so, Fenris?"

He looked startled, glancing between her and Bodahn a moment before he politely nodded. "Yes. It was quite… satisfying."

"Oh, you're too kind," Bodahn chuckled, waving them both off. Still, he puffed up a little, and Sandal began to clap from the back of the tent.

"Yay, Bodahn," he cheered, grinning at everyone. "Yummy!"

Hawke beamed as Bodahn began to blush.

"Now now, I just manage the provisions like I was hired to do," the dwarf said humbly. "Hopefully me and my boy will be able to turn a bit of additional profit repairing things and trading them, then we can figure out what to do with ourselves next. We had a busy year last year, so it might be nice to settle in one place for a while… but we aren't exactly ones for a completely quiet life, either."

"Boom!" Sandal shouted in agreement.

Bodahn turned and gave his son an uneasy smile. "Ahh, maybe not _that_ kind of excitement, my boy." He leaned over, whispering to Hawke, "He does have a tendency to keep things lively. I'm never quite sure though if trouble finds him or the other way 'round…"

"I know the feeling," Hawke chuckled. Fenris began to fidget behind her, so she made motions towards their usual table. "I'm sure we'll get plenty of excitement once we reach the lost thaig though, and no doubt it'll continue once we return to Kirkwall and everyone hears of our success. You'll have all kinds of opportunities I'll bet, Bodahn."

The merchant-cook smiled. "Aye, indeed, you are probably right! But we can talk about all that later. I don't want your porridge getting cold because I can't stop chatting on… Go on, enjoy your breakfast!"

"We'll talk more soon," Hawke agreed amiably. "A good conversation can be as filling as a home-cooked meal, as my Father used to say — and you somehow always manage to provide both."

Bodahn practically giggled. "Oh, go on with you now…"

"Bye-bye!" Sandal called. He waved his dripping ladle at her.

"See you soon, Sandal," she said with a laugh before turning to follow Fenris to the table.

He shifted over as she caught up, leaving a more than respectable gap between them as they walked. "What did Bartrand want, anyway?" he asked in a low grumble.

"Apparently for no one to enjoy this expedition, even a little bit," she sighed. "Despite any efforts to the contrary."

Fenris raised an eyebrow and gave her a sidelong glance, but he said nothing as they took their seats across from one another on the benches. Varric was already at the table, eating, and Anders followed shortly, sitting down without looking at anyone or anything but his bowl.

"Looks like we're all here, Varric," Hawke said with an invitational gesture. "You're up."

He poked at what was left of his porridge, then set his spoon down. "Yeah, yeah…"

"What's this all about?" Anders sighed. He eyed the two expedition partners with tired suspicon.

Fenris just sat quietly, watching and listening, holding off on his breakfast for the moment. Hawke looked to Varric as she nonchalantly poured hot tea over the herbs in her cup.

Varric cleared his throat. "So… Bartrand wants us to start patrolling the camp," he explained without preamble. "All night. From now on."

"What? Why?" Anders cried, frowning. "And why's it got to be us? We patrol the expedition all day long, now we have to do it all night, too?" His fists fell to the tabletop with a clatter, and he looked down with a scowl. "Andraste's ripped knickerstitches, this is feeling more and more like being with the blighted Wardens every day!"

"So we take turns walking around a little after camp is set," Varric said with a shrug. "These caverns have all been pretty defensible so far, and it's not like there's been much action since our second day."

"Hmm," Fenris said, expression thoughtful. He rubbed his hands along his thighs as he shifted on the bench. "I'm surprised your brother didn't think of this earlier. Why now?"

"Heh, mostly I think Bartrand just wants to throw his weight around," Varric said. "Misery loves company, and my brother is as miserable as they come." He picked up his spoon, poking his breakfast again as he scratched his ear. "One, maybe two nights ought to satisfy him. Then we reach the thaig and the hirelings will be all spread out anyway, working round the clock — they'll sound the alarm if need be."

"How is one person staying up is supposed to make a difference?" Anders grumbled. "The Wardens never bothered. Either you'd sense something coming in your sleep and get up to dispatch it, or a horde would show up and mop the floor with your blood. Being awake didn't matter in the slightest."

Fenris eyed the mage flatly. "Yes, well, we have been fortunate so far to have your ever-alert senses to rely on. Such as yesterday morning, for example."

Anders gave him a baleful look, but said nothing in defense of his previous morning's hangover.

Fenris glanced at Hawke, who was quietly swirling her tea, then looked at Varric. "It would be unwise to ignore the potential dangers of this place. Though it might be inconvenient, a night watch does seem prudent to me." Indeed the idea had appealed to him immediately, even if he had not been concerned about it before.

Anders rolled his eyes before crossing his arms and looking away again. "As if I didn't sleep badly enough down here," he muttered to himself. "Now I'm supposed to wander around in the dark while everyone else is asleep… I could have done that in my clinic, and for better reason. I should never have left Kirkwall. I don't even know why I agreed to come in the first place…"

Hawke gripped her tumbler, staring down into it. "I'm sorry. I know this wasn't the kind of news any of us wanted to hear this morning. But Bartrand and Fenris do have a point — it will make things safer as we get deeper in. We shouldn't assume anything down here. The last thing anyone wants is for someone to get hurt."

Anders's frown deepened into a scowl, and it looked for a moment like he would argue. But instead he settled for a last, quick glare in Fenris's direction, then began digging into his porridge in sullen silence.

"If you think you'll be lonely, Blondie," Varric said, "we could always pair up for half the night." He turned his eyes to his breakfast, his expression pointedly neutral. "Any objections, Hawke? Elf?"

_Midnight watch with Fenris? _Hawke thought, lips already pulling up into a small smile. _It would safer and far better than being alone, to be sure … _

To her surprise however, Fenris hastily stared down at the tabletop when she looked to him for approval. She frowned, puzzled at his silence, but shrugged and turned to Varric. "I suppose I woul-"

"Wait. You mean stay up _half_ the night, every night?" Anders asked Varric, interrupting her. "Sounds even worse, if you ask me. We'd all be exhausted and useless within a few days!"

_Some of us more useless than others, _Fenris thought uncharitably as they all pondered their options. However, he could not disagree with the healer's main point. _I imagine Hawke would become quite tired, _he told himself. _Alone together, half the night walking, then the other half… _He cleared his throat, then reached over to pour himself some tea.

"Perhaps pairing up is unnecessary," he said hoarsely before he took a sip. He kept his eyes down on his cup, not looking at Hawke as his fingers fidgeted with the hewn ridges in the wood. "It… might just be better for two to take turns one night, then the other two the next. Unless there is some credible threat."

Anders gave him an incredulous look, disbelieving his tacit agreement. "Maybe…" he reluctantly said.

Varric's eyebrow went up as he looked from Fenris to Hawke, though he pursed his lips together in thought. "Hm. I… guess I can see some sense in that," said the dwarf. "Both could catch up on sleep on the off-days that way. A nice, long rest… Yeah."

Fenris shifted in his seat, then took another, long drink.

"I… guess that settles it, then," Hawke said, shrugging in acquiescence. She looked between each of the three men, though none of them were looking at her. "I suppose we can decide when we stop for the night who's up first — who knows what today will bring, after all."

Everyone nodded, looking about as satisfied as they could be with the unwelcome assignment.

"And if it doesn't seem to be working out," she quickly added, glancing at Fenris, "we'll find something that works for everyone, I'm sure."

They all made various murmurings of agreement and turned to their breakfasts, so she retrieved her own bowl from the tray and focused on it.

_We're only a few days out from reaching the thaig, _she reminded herself. _It may be frustrating, but this is a worthwhile endeavor. You worked hard to get here, remember? Just take it one day at a time. Fenris is just being logical. We're all professionals, after all — even Anders._

She glanced at the gloomy mage as she added a few extra drizzles of honey to her tea and porridge to cut the bitterness of the moon herbs. The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew as she pondered Anders, so she tried to put it out of her mind for the time being. As she handed the pot of honey over to Fenris, however, his carefully hidden face caught her eye, his curious bashfulness making her smile despite her concerns. She surreptitiously admired him as she drank down her tea.

_Hmm, I rather get the feeling he's none to keen on being caught off guard by Bartrand, _she thought, wincing a little with embarrassment herself. _I doubt Bartrand himself cares much, so long as we don't hold up progress. But I suppose I already knew Fenris prefers to keep things… private._ _I'll just have to hope this morning doesn't make him reluctant tonight…_

_Tonight,_ Fenris contemplated, accidentally adding more honey than he intended to his first bowl in his distraction. He glanced at Hawke briefly in between quick, too-sweet bites of porridge, but she was smiling down distantly at the table.

_I could just… volunteer, _he thought. _It would be for the best. Nothing more can come of this. Last night was… a fluke. A careless one. This morning only proved it. _Though he'd resented Bartrand's interruption, Fenris had acknowledged while quickly dressing in a secluded part of the cavern that he'd expected the tide would turn. With so many memories of pain and disappointment, the temptation to simply be satisfied with what he'd had was ever-present. More unnerving by far was the thought of taking a risk and losing what little he'd gained.

_My markings, nosy dwarves, this place, that whiny mage…_ he thought, soon growing irritated with the whole situation._ It seems new troubles always spring up to replace those I leave behind. At least I could run from the hunters, or kill them. __Keeping solitary watch, keeping watch in pairs… it hardly makes a difference. Either way, it seems I'll never have a quiet, easy night, not until I return to my mansion. _

He thought almost fondly of his solitary, quiet bed there, where he hadn't feared waking up paralyzed or in terror — but the warm feeling of falling asleep with Hawke was fresh too, as was the memory of her tucked under his covers, smiling at him over her cards.

_I should just concentrate on getting through today without any… incidents, _he thought, setting his jaw._ After all, Hawke seems rather… _He glanced at her again, looking away when his eyes met hers. _…something. I do not wish to hurt her, but how can I explain about the pain without her pitying me? How can I tell her that I just need… I don't know even know what I need. Time? For what? To think, to be alone, to… brood?_

He frowned and continued to eat automatically, questions gnawing at him to the point where he barely tasted a thing.

_Those lips,_ Hawke thought, taking advantage of his preoccupation to watch him openly. She nearly dropped her spoon when he licked them, imagining his lips tasted even sweeter than the most generously honeyed porridge. _And his tongue… ooh…_

She struggled to finish her meal, trying carefully not to accidentally chew her own tongue off in her distraction.

* * *

Hawke quickly smoothed her fingers over her hair as she carried two lunches up to where Fenris was standing guard near the sweating, toiling hirelings. While she had been away, scouting further back the way they had come, the workers had already eaten and begun excavating the only promising side tunnel around. Though a good number of the strapping Fereldans worked shirtless, her eyes were firmly fixed on Fenris's svelte back. Her breath even hitched a little as he shifted his weight and crossed his arms, and she couldn't help imagining herself wrapped up in them.

_Maker, just give me five solid minutes alone with him_… she prayed.

One of the Carta scouts had already rushed ahead to speak with Bartrand, delivering the news that no other passages seemed navigable. The expedition leader cursed colorfully at the understandably standoffish messenger, then began pacing behind the line of hirelings. His ranting caught Hawke's attention as she approached.

"I knew I should have listened to my gut when we passed here earlier," the dwarf grumbled. "Sodding Carta scouts couldn't find their ass inside their pants using both hands! Half the damn morning wasted, now it's looking like the whole afternoon!"

Hawke suspected that Bartrand was exaggerating slightly, but it did appear at a glance that the delay would not be resolved for at least an hour or two.

_Good, _she thought, a smile already on her lips. _More time for a leisurely lunch, and we deserve one after having to put it off to backtrack all this way. It isn't our stomachs' fault we hit a dead end. Honestly, doesn't Bartrand realize we all want to get to the thaig already, too?_

She shook her head, then turned her focus on Fenris again as she came up behind him. She brushed her fingertips up his back and leaned into murmur a greeting, but he leapt and spun away, fists half raised and lip curling into a snarl. Hawke hopped backwards a step, and it seemed to take a moment before Fenris recognized that it was her.

"Hawke… " he said gruffly. He lowered his hands and straightened, then took another step away. "I… did not hear you there." _Distracted again, _he admonished himself._ Too lost in my own thoughts — unacceptable._

Hawke's smile had gone a bit lopsided, and she lowered the hand she had reached out with. "I just… brought you your rations, Fenris," she said, holding up two cloth-wrapped bundles. "Bodahn said you hadn't come to get them yet. I thought perhaps we could sit and eat lunch together. We didn't have much time to talk this morning, and-"

"Thank you," Fenris said, stiffly taking the larger bundle, "but I am fine eating while standing guard." He left it hooked over two fingers, looking down at the wrapped parcel but not opening it.

"It's nut butter and strawberry jam today," Hawke offered after a moment, gesturing at his with her own. "Should be a nice change from salty ham and cheese with mustard, no?"

Fenris shrugged, looking aside at nothing in particular.

Her hand lowered along with some of her optimistic mood. "I'll just… keep guard with you, then," she said. "I can stand to eat, too." Her stomach punctuated her words with a growl, and she added, "Pun intended, apparently." She chuckled and began to untie the cloth, but paused when Fenris ground out an impatient sigh.

"That isn't necessary, Hawke. You should rest while you have the opportunity," he said. He gestured down the line of carts to where the remaining expedition members lounged, catching naps or leaning back quietly as they waited for the latest blockage to be cleared. As she considered the line of carts herself, Fenris looked the other way, noting that Bartrand and a few of the workers kept glancing at the two of them.

_Bad enough to have these markings, the pain of them, this apprehension, _he thought setting his jaw, _but to have an audience to it…_

"I'm not really that tired," Hawke said, turning back with a small smile. She moved closer and lowered her voice. "It's nice of you to think of my well-being, but I slept quite well last night, you know."

"Tonight won't _be_ like last night, Hawke," Fenris responded in an uncompromising undertone. "Go. Rest while you can. It is for the best." He turned away and set his tied bundle of sandwiches down at his feet, then crossed his arms and resumed watching the hirelings' progress.

Hawke blinked at his back a few times. _Was it something I said? _she thought._ Did Bartrand get to him that much? Maybe something happened while I was away… Or is his mood for some other reason entirely? I can never tell with him… but would he even tell me if I asked?_

"Is… something the matter, Fenris?" she ventured quietly.

"No."

He barely turned his head when he answered, and her eyebrow went up at his clipped tone. "You're sure? If there's something bothering you, maybe I-"

"You needn't concern yourself with me, Hawke," Fenris said firmly. "I'm doing my duty, aiding with this endeavor of yours as asked — aren't I?"

"Well… yes," she said, clutching her own lunch. "Always. I never… meant to imply that you weren't. I just-"

"So leave it to me." He shot her a glance over his shoulder. "This isn't anything I can't handle on my own."

Hawke let out a small, flustered laugh. "It wasn't a question of you handling it, Fenris. I just thought you might like some company."

_She doesn't understand… _Fenris thought. He hung his head and sighed. _Of course she doesn't. __**I**__ don't understand. All I do know is that I am making a mess of it. I just… don't want to deal with this right now. This just isn't the right time or place. _

Hawke felt other eyes watching them as the silence grew, the weight of Bartrand's gaze in particular further sinking her hopes. She glanced at Fenris's formidable posture, then plucked at the cloth of her lunch bundle a few times, experiencing a rare loss of words.

"Do you want me to leave you be?" she finally asked, voice far quieter than was necessary for privacy.

Fenris looked to one side, gazing at nothing. "I think it would be best."

"I… see." Hawke cast her lowered eyes around, fidgeting with the knot in the cloth. "Well… maybe we can talk later, then."

Fenris's shoulders slumped, but he didn't have the strength to disillusion Hawke further. "Go, try to rest up for tonight. I will be here."

Hawke took a step back, reluctantly turning away. "I'll just… leave you to it, then, Fenris."

He remained silent and still as she left, his body somehow more tense than when he'd been alarmed by her touch. _I handled that poorly, from beginning to end, _he thought, feeling disgusted with himself.

As she walked further off, he could hear Bartrand grunt in self-satisfaction. "Girls," the expedition leader then grumbled to himself. He came over and stopped a few paces away, squinting at Hawke's retreating back for a long moment before his steely eyes shifted over to Fenris.

"That one likes to talk almost as much as my brother," he muttered. "Doesn't seem like it's her conversation that interests you though, eh?"

Fenris returned Bartrand's hard gaze with a blank, unrelenting stare of his own. _This dwarf is every bit as nosy as Varric, _he decided. _But where Varric merely seems curious, his brother is… meddlesome. I do not like it._

"So…" Bartrand said quietly, crossing his arms and thrusting his chin at Fenris. "You'll start glowing if anything dangerous turns up, right?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You light up like a sodding torch whenever we get attacked," the expedition leader said. "Or at least those… tattoos do." He uncrossed one arm to gesture at him. "Look like lyrium to me — some kind of magic warning signal or something?"

Fenris's eyebrow cocked up. "No… I control my markings in battle. They do not control me." He flicked his eyes up impatiently — just before he realized the irony of his own statement.

"Eh, I see…" Bartrand rubbed at his chin, fingertips flicking his long, braided mustache as he considered Fenris anew. "But they are lyrium, right?"

"Yes," Fenris answered, expression souring. "Forced upon me by a magister of the Imperium, my former mas-"

Bartrand held up a hand, loudly grumbling, "Didn't ask for your life story, elf." He pointed a finger towards him. "Just keep alert. Got a bad feeling, and it's been growing on me. Like an… itch. Right between the shoulders. Know what I mean?"

Fenris glowered, but nodded once. "I believe so." _After three years of feeling it, how could I not…_

"Yeah, I thought you might," the expedition leader said. "Lad like you?" He scratched at his chin again, eyes boring into Fenris. "You got a, what do they call it…? A 'dark air' about you. Maybe that's what's got my whiskers standing on end…"

Fenris bristled. _'Lad,' hmph. He sounds far too like Danarius… _"If something about me bothers you, feel free to keep your distance," he replied. "But before you go, you should perhaps know that I didn't fight my way alone across the length of Thedas simply to die in a tunnel under it. Rest assured I will sound the alert if I see or hear anything dangerous." He shifted and crossed his arms, giving Bartrand a hard glare that he hoped would encourage the expedition leader to avoid dropping by again. _Perhaps he will think twice about barging into my tent, too_.

Bartrand pursed his lips for a few moments, quietly considering. "Well… I guess you do talk when you got something to say," he said, nodding. "Good. I don't trust anyone who doesn't say enough."

He eyed the knot of shifty Carta scouts that lingered around the frontmost carts, then glanced back down the line towards where Varric sat, far at the rear, keeping guard with Anders. The constant sound of Varric's voice echoed well past where Bartrand and Fenris stood.

"I gotta say, though," the expedition leader shouted, "saying little is better than yapping on too much!"

Fenris raised his hands halfway to his ears, but Bartrand's booming voice hit him in full force. "Volume should count for something, surely…" he muttered, grimacing.

Varric's faint, longwinded tale cut off and everyone turned to look at Bartrand. The gruff dwarf chuckled grimly in satisfaction, and he clapped Fenris on the arm with a meaty hand before stomping away

Caught off guard, Fenris couldn't avoid the rough contact. He gritted his teeth, barely keeping himself from clutching at his skin._ Venhedis, _he cursed inwardly, _will these trials never end? This is exactly what I wished to avoid…_

He closed his eyes for a moment and did his best to ignore the pain that radiated from his arm. When that did not work, he bent down to scoop up his rations, hoping that perhaps eating would distract him from his unending woes._ It was foolish to come here. Stuck underground with so many others and nowhere to go…. Damn these markings, damn Danarius, and damn all of this…_

He stared at the bundle of food for a moment, his appetite utterly nonexistent. _All I want is a little peace. Hawke came here seeking better fortunes, and I owe it to her to aid her… but I grow tired of this. How can I ever be normal with these… cursed markings? _he thought, willing the discomfort away. It did not seem to help, and his frustration served only to compound his lingering anxiety that he might never feel as he thought a normal man should.

_No,_ he decided, ignoring his lunch and returning to his lonely, quiet vigil,_ I wasn't a fool to come here. This would stay with me no matter where I was. I was merely a fool to think I had finally put some part of my past behind me, or that I had found some way do deal with what I truly am. I wish I was alone — it is so much easier to forget then._

* * *

Hawke retired to the quiet of her tent right after dinner, intending to turn in early in preparation for her turn at watch.

_Up in the middle of the night, patrolling until breakfast, _she thought. _Aveline would approve… can't say I'm as excited though. _The prospect of traveling the next day on half a night's sleep already made her feel weary.

'_You can go far on tired, Marian,'_ she remembered her father saying, _'and sleep better for having seen your duties through.' _She chuckled to herself, thinking of all the times she'd pointed out that naturally exhausting oneself would lead to better sleep. _Oh Father, no doubt you would have enjoyed yourself immensely on this expedition. I, however, am already starting to long for home…_

As she rolled out her bedroll, she realized just how much she missed her family, Aveline, and even Merrill and Isabela. _Never a dull moment there either, but at least there was always someone to talk to._ _Even Ruff is a better listener than an empty tent, _she thought, feeling acutely alone._ I miss that dog… though no doubt he's having plenty of fun keeping Uncle Gamlen in line. _Hawke rolled out Fenris's bedroll next, placing it beside her own even though there would be no opportunity for them to sleep together that night._ Maybe it'll feel less lonely in here with both bedrolls out, _she hoped, taking a deep breath as the faint smell of Fenris wafted into air.

She sighed and crawled over to take one last look out the front of the tent, noticing that Varric and Anders had set up the benches around the fire, littering the bench between them with a deck of cards and a few mugs of ale. They were playing a friendly game of Diamondback, and by their laughter and smiles Hawke figured they couldn't have been playing very long.

_Maker, I hope Varric knows what he's doing. He knows Anders is a complete maniac at Diamondback. His offended inner card strategist will get no sympathy from me tomorrow if Anders wins with dumb luck… although it might help keep Anders from getting any more melancholic._

The mage had been in slightly better spirits after she'd offered to take the second watch that evening, while Varric, by comparison, had been unflappable about the whole situation. Indeed, a little too unflappable, enough so that his offer to "volunteer to _say_" he'd take the second watch had made her think it prudent to do it herself, just in case Bartrand decided to check up on the first patrol during the night.

_The last thing we need is Varric's brother in another uproar. I'd rather lose a little sleep tonight and know for certain the watch is being kept rather than risk fratricide if Bartrand caught Varric sleeping or shirking on his watch…_

As she'd expected, Hawke did not see Fenris at all as she looked past their circle of tents. She knew if she waited long enough he'd pass through, checking on their part of camp, but she also knew she needn't bother. She pulled her head back into the tent, thinking, _Whatever is eating him, he obviously wants to think on it alone. I doubt I could even get a goodnight out of him. Maybe when he comes to bed…_

She slipped out of her clothes and into her underpadding, figuring she could more quickly don her armor when Fenris came to wake her if she didn't have to first undress. After washing earlier, she had carefully cleaned and arranged her armor pieces so she could simply reach over and pull them on. Her underpadding was also comfortable enough to sleep in, if a bit revealing on bottom. _And yet another opportunity wasted, _she thought.

All her preparations for the night seemed complete, so Hawke lay down on her bedroll and curled up alone, sighing heavily as she pulled her cloak over herself.

_I had truly hoped to be able to talk to Fenris tonight… He seemed to have a lot on his mind yesterday, and I've also been meaning to ask after his markings. But whether it's those flares or something else that's bothering him, it seems like I am too late. I should have struck while the iron was hot — he seemed at ease after dinner yesterday, but instead of talking, I let myself get carried away. As usual._

Again as she tried to settle in to sleep alone, Hawke found she deeply missed Fenris's presence beside her. She fidgeted and tried to get comfortable, but her aching back protested along with her heavy heart. It seemed her body was determined to make her long for him, and in as many ways as possible.

_Fenris doesn't even want my company, _she thought, stretching and twisting to loosen her back._ Even were he here, asking for a massage would definitely be out of the question. _

She had learned her lesson at lunch and hadn't made the mistake of assuming he would want her to accompany him while he made his rounds at dinnertime, but she had been surprised when Fenris also turned down her offer to bring him some food. Where his words had been few, his lack of appetite spoke volumes.

_He said he'd just eat his lunch rations for dinner, but I wonder why he didn't have them earlier? Fenris loves strawberries, I know he does — I thought he'd be pleased that I slipped a request for jam sandwiches to Bodahn after breakfast and finding out he had brought a few jars along. _She frowned, troubled by Fenris's recurring black, enigmatic moods and the distance he was keeping between them again.

_Tsk, I probably_ _worry about him too much, _she chided herself. _The surest way to drive a man off is to smother him, Marian… _

Hawke rubbed her own legs and feet for a minute, trying not to think how much more they would hurt after adding half a night's patrol to the aggressive pace Bartrand still insisted on setting for the expedition. As she kneaded, she let her thoughts turn instead to imagining what wonders Fenris's strong hands could work on her sore feet, tight calves, and tired thighs. Her own fingers were dexterous enough, but she found them a lackluster substitute for his warm, stimulating, and mysteriously knowledgable ones.

_Maker's breath_, _just the thought of his fingertips on my toes is enough to arouse me now?_she let her hold on herself slip even as she lamented her weakness, her eyes slipping closed and her hands grazing up her legs. She thought again of Fenris darkly ravishing her in her dream, the sensations now a vivid memory since she had envisioned each moment over and over throughout the day until she could intimately recall each scintillating detail.

Her body warmed and grew pliant as her tension shifted, and she thought too of a few other daydreams she'd been helplessly entertaining of late. Of peeling Fenris out of his leggings and mapping every inch of his bare skin with her eyes — to start with; of tending each other in a long hot bath where the steaming slipperiness of soapy water would leave them flushed, yet curiously not much cleaner; and of sharing his bed for uninterrupted hours in the seclusion of his mansion, which in her imagination would be slightly less quiet than it usually was_. _

_I suppose this is one good thing about having the tent all to myself for half the night, _Hawke mused before her thoughts transported her elsewhere.

"Fenris, my love, you incredible, insufferable man," she groaned. "Maker, where are you when I need you most…" She soon battled her frustrations herself, quietly murmuring Fenris's name though she longed to cry it out.

Fenris soon silently patrolled the periphery of their camp, avoiding the harsh glare of the circle of firelight as he made another round on his patrol. His sharp eyes quickly scanned the dark recesses along the walls and under the carts, his ears alert for any strange noises. Among the sounds of Anders's gloating, Varric's swearing, and the snap of the fire, he thought for a moment that he heard his name. He paused as he passed behind his and Hawke's tent, skin prickling a little. _Was that…_

"Hawke?" he called. He did not reach for the tent flaps, frowning and staring distantly down as he waited in silence.

_No, I must have been mistaken,_ he told himself after a moment. _I suppose it is common enough to hear things when keeping watch_. He resumed walking, mind and body falling back into the comfortingly meditative rhythms of searching the shadows and listening to the dark.

"Damn it, Marian," Hawke sighed, releasing the breath she had been holding. _Well, that was close — I almost had the perfect opportunity to talk to Fenris, _she ruefully told herself. _Not even keeping my hands to myself helped this time… _

She lay still, shaking her head facedown into the bolster.

"Sixth of Justinian, nine thirty-one Dragon," she said, voice muffled. "This was just not my day… nor one meant for love or dalliances…"


End file.
